


Homework Verse: Anywhere But Here

by nyxocity



Series: Homework Verse [7]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Collars, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Fingerfucking, Fisting, M/M, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-18
Updated: 2012-05-18
Packaged: 2017-11-05 14:36:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 44,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyxocity/pseuds/nyxocity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen POV. Set three years after the epilogue. Jensen and Jared take a vacation, meaning to leave it all behind... but no matter where you go, there you are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It’s Saturday night and Jensen can hear Chad and Jared from the kitchen over the din of the popcorn popping in the microwave. They’re arguing about something, and Jensen can’t quite make out what it is, but it makes him smile anyway as he opens the microwave door, pulls out the bag. He tears it open, careful to avoid the steam, pours it into a bowl. He rolls up the empty bag and its oozing fake butter, stuffs it in a ziplock bag and seals it before he throws it in the trash can. It starts to stink if you don’t seal it in something, and if anything bothers him more than the disturbing, violent yellow of the ‘butter’, it’s the smell of it.

He really can’t stand the stuff. He’d rather pop it on the stove and melt his own butter, but Jared loves it, says the real kind doesn’t taste right. After three years, Jensen’s realized that he has to pick his battles.

“Score, Ackles,” Chad says, sitting up on the loveseat as Jensen carries the bowl into the living room. Chad reaches across the coffee table, grabs a handful of popcorn, leaving kernels scattered across the coffee table. Jensen bites down on the inside of his cheek, runs a hand across his jaw and tries not to think of popcorn kernels getting mashed into the carpet by Chad’s motorcycle boots.

“That’s _not_ what happened,” Jared says to Chad, reaching for the bowl, too. 

“You totally started it. Playground fight over a fuckin’ micromachine, no less. And I even gave it to you after I kicked your ass.” 

“It was a really cool one,” Jared mutters around a mouthful of popcorn, looking sheepish.

“Like I said then, all you had to do was _ask_ for it.”

Jared grumbles something Jensen can’t quite make out.

“Dude. Your ass; I kicked it,” Chad says, dusts his hands of salt. “Suck it up.”

“In _grade_ school,” Jared shoots back.

“Yeah, that was before you became a fuckin’ yeti. You were the shortest kid on the playground back then. Remember how Garrett Wilkes used pull your hair all the time ‘cause it looked like a girl’s? I’d love to see him try that shit now. You’re like, eight feet taller than _everybody_ now.”

“Dude, we’re not in third grade anymore. We don’t communicate by hair pulling.”

Chad leans across the loveseat and _yanks_ Jared’s hair.

“Oh that’s _it_ ,” Jared says, flying up off the couch and tackling Chad. “It’s _on_.” It’s a flurry of arms and legs and Jensen winces when they roll off the loveseat, land on the floor and almost take out the coffee table on the way down. They roll, gripping and grabbing at each other, and he watches, bemused as Jared inevitably flips Chad over and pins him. 

“Uncle,” Jared says, grinning. “Say it.”

“No fuckin’ way, Padalecki.” Chad wriggles, struggling, face turning red with effort, and Jared puts his forearm across Chad’s throat, holds him in place easily.

“How ‘bout now?” Jared asks, in that teasing, taunting way he has.

It’s all in good fun, nothing sexual about it at all, but Jensen has to admit it’s a turn on watching Jared manhandle someone into submission—even if it is _Chad_. He loves that Jared’s so big, tall, so powerful. He could probably overpower Jensen in a real struggle, and Jensen loves that too, especially when Jared’s spread out underneath him, giving all that power to Jensen willingly.

Chad struggles for a few more minutes, finally mumbles out ‘uncle’ and Jensen has to hide a snort of laughter behind his hand. Jared pops up from the floor, long body unfurling, reaches down and grabs Chad’s hand in a hard clasp, helps him up.

Chad bounces to his feet, takes his hand back and smoothes out his shirt. “Whatever, dude. I won our first fight. You can’t ever take that back, Jay, just gotta suck it up. You fuckin’ yeti,” Chad adds, slapping Jared’s back.

“And I’ve been stuck with you as my best friend ever since,” Jared mock-sighs. Jared shakes his head, smacks Chad’s shoulder back, and that’s it; they sit down on the couch and keep eating popcorn like nothing ever happened.

Jensen’s been watching Chad and Jared together for three years now. They don’t make any sense to him, much as he’s gone over it. It’s friendship, but it’s more than that. It’s _love_ , but it’s not a lovers kind of love. Sometimes he thinks it _should_ be. But it isn’t. It… puzzles him. 

Jared presses play, and he and Chad watch the movie together, the two of them chewing popcorn in tandem, eyes riveted to the screen while Jensen watches them. _eXistenZ_ was Chad’s pick, and Jensen’s seen it before. He’s not looking forward to sitting through it again. The movie is… well, it’s chaos. _And_ it’s got Jude Law in it. 

Chad’s going on to Jared about Jennifer Jason Leigh’s legs, and Jared’s rolling his eyes, explaining how William Dafoe is so much hotter, but Jensen’s inclined to agree with Chad. William Dafoe’s got a tendency to chew scenery, and despite that Jensen’s not into finding women sexy, Jennifer Jason Leigh has the kind of sexy he can appreciate. She’s like Juliette Lewis that way. 

He doesn’t say anything though, because being in agreement with Chad about anything—especially women—disturbs him on a level too deep to examine.

There’s an ease about them, the way they disregard each other’s personal space, elbowing each other out of the way as they reach for the popcorn. It’s a different flow than Jensen has with Jared, but it’s no less intimate. He’s noticed their dynamic before, but lately they’ve put it more out in the open. Mostly, Jensen thinks, because Chad and Sandy broke up a few weeks ago, and Chad _needs_ Jared right now.

Jensen doesn’t understand that need. It’s what fascinates him most. He’s never _needed_ anyone. Never before Jared. And what Jared means to him is… far different than what Jared means to Chad. And yet, it’s the same kind of need, the same kind of give and take. Fundamentally, theoretically, it makes sense. People need each other, they lean on each other and use each other to prop themselves up. It’s what people do. But he can’t fully grasp it in his own mind; that kind of love without any sexuality.

Jensen’s not entirely sure he’s okay with sharing Jared in the ‘needed’ sense. He knows Jared doesn’t want Chad like _that_. But, sometimes, he thinks Jared _should_.

Sometimes, Jensen thinks he’s not the best choice Jared could have made.

Jared cuts him a glance from under those bangs, eyes bright and happy, and Jensen smiles, eyes crinkling, looks back to the TV screen like that’s all he was ever doing all along.

_Jude Law looks flustered onscreen. “God, what happened? I didn’t mean to say that.”_

_“It’s your character who said it,” Jennifer assures. “There are things that have to be said to advance the plot and establish the characters, and those things get said whether you want to say them or not. Don’t fight it.”_

_“There’s an element of psychosis here.”_

No kidding. Jensen bites his lower lip, forces himself to keep his eyes on the screen. 

_“I don’t like it here. I don’t know what’s going on. We’re both stumbling around together in this unformed world, whose rules and objectives are largely unknown, seemingly indecipherable or even possibly nonexistent, always on the verge of being killed by forces that we don’t understand.” Jude Law is beyond frustration._

_“That sounds like my game, all right,” Jennifer smiles._

_Jude looks at her askance. “That sounds like a game that’s not gonna be easy to market.”_

_Jennifer smirks knowingly. “But it’s a game everybody’s already playing.”_

He knows it’s supposed to be tongue-in-cheek; so tongue in cheek you might not even notice if you don’t get it. He knows he’s supposed to appreciate the humor—two people stuck in a virtual reality game that is just slyly disguised reality; no baseline, no universal rules, the most tenuous structure. It’s like his worst nightmare. 

It’s interesting to him that Chad picked this out. He’d bet money Chad loves this movie for the same reasons it bothers Jensen. 

Chad loves his existentialism and his metaphors, and Jensen enjoys that about him, because it has a tendency to make Jensen _think_ outside his comfortable boundaries. Chad is almost prescient, despite that he might not be as intellectual as Jared or Jensen. Chad’s fucking _smart_ in his own unique, simple but complicated way, and it’s a way that Jensen isn’t and never will be smart. Jensen’d be lying if he said it never made him uncomfortable.

He wonders if Jared ever sees that as a lack in their relationship.

_“You have to PLAY the game, to find out WHY you’re playing the game,” Jennifer says with her enigmatic smile._

At least he’s got that. Jensen knows why he’s playing the game. He might not have for a lot of years, but he does now. And it’s sitting on the couch right here next to him, pushing shoulders into Chad and picking the last remnants out of the popcorn bowl.

*

When the movie’s over, there’s a moment of silence before Jared gets up, stretches his long, lean body and bends to kiss Jensen. Soft brush of lips, and it’s sweet, light. Jensen wants to pull him in, tuck him under his body, kiss him into the couch. But Chad’s still here, so he just smiles instead when Jared pulls away.

“Gotta shower,” Jared smiles, and Jensen nods, watches Jared sway his hips down the hallway. There’s a grace to Jared that he really shouldn’t possess, big as he is. But he moves like music, liquid and long limbed.

“Going for a smoke,” Chad says, rising from the couch. Jensen glances up, torn for a second—and then Chad saves him, asks him if he wants to come. Still… he can’t just accept. It wouldn’t be… seemly.

“I look like I smoke?” Jensen asks, arching a brow.

“You kidding me, Ackles? I can smell your brain frying from _here_ ,” Chad says, walking to the sliding glass door. “Might as well go for a smoke and make it fuckin’ official.”

He really, _really_ hates Chad. In the sense that he usually wishes he didn’t like Chad as much as he does.

He gets up off the couch, follows Chad outside to the back porch. It’s not like they haven’t talked a thousand times over the years, but Jensen’s feeling especially odd, tonight. The moon is a sliver of light against the cloudless sky. Jensen sits down in one of the iron chairs, crosses his legs and leans back, watching as Chad lights a cigarette.

Chad’s not going to bring it up, even if he _knows_. 

“You ever think about it?” Jensen asks, averting his eyes.

“What?” Chad asks, sounding darkly amused. “Fucking Jared?”

Chad’s a head knocking motherfucker; completely unapologetic about it, too. Jensen respects that about him. Chad’s not _scared_ of him. Still, he’s surprised that Chad knows what he’s talking about.

“Am I that transparent?” Jensen asks with a smirk.

Chad snorts, shakes his head. “I’ve known you way too long.”

“A whole lot better than I wish you did.” Jensen rubs at the corner of his eye.

“No shit, right? Sometimes I wish I could be like those people in _Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind_ , go get my fuckin’ brain scrubbed. But then I’d just have to live through the horror of getting to know you all fuckin’ over again.” Chad’s voice isn’t unkind, and Jensen turns his head to hide his smile. “You know you’re a sick bastard, right?” Chad goes on.

“For asking you about Jared?” Jensen asks.

“Pretty much full time,” Chad assures him, flicking ashes towards the railing. “And about that—you _do_ remember that I like girls?”

“Yes. And I forgive you for that,” Jensen intones, mock-serious.

“Aw, Ackles, you _do_ care. You know, one day you’re going to have to tell Jared about this massive crush you’ve got on me. I mean I get it, I _am_ pretty fuckin’ fantastic.” Chad clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “But poor Jay. It’s gonna destroy him.”

Jensen snorts out a laugh, can’t help it, and Chad smirks like he’s just won some kind of battle.

“Okay, look. I know you were born in a twenty-four hour 7-11 test-tube lab and raised by wolves or some shit, so let me do you a favor and explain this to you.” Chad turns, moving his arms like windmills the way he does when he’s explaining anything. “He’s my best friend. I don’t think about fucking him. Hell, I’m too busy listening to him tell me about _you_ fucking him to have _time_ to think about fucking him, even if I _wanted_ to.”

“You pull each other’s hair,” Jensen says, looking up from under his brows. 

“What? You never pulled anybody’s hair? You feel like you missed out on some vital part of life or something?” Chad throws himself into one of the iron chairs across from Jensen and exhales smoke. “All right, look man, it’s like this. It’s called guy-code. A guy pulls a guy’s hair, it means one of two things; I like you—you’re my _friend_ , you know? But in a completely _not_ gay way. Or,” Chad goes on, “it can mean I wanna beat your pansy, girly ass.”

“That’s… enlightened,” Jensen says, nodding.

“Fuck you, Ackles. You know,” Chad says, looking at him, blowing smoke out of the side of his mouth. “I _know_ you have friends—I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t met them in person and asked if you were paying them—but I know you do. So if you don’t know what I’m saying here, then you never had a best friend.”

“I have a best friend. It’s just not like _that_.”

“No hair pulling?” Chad asks with a smirk, smoke curling around the words.

“No.”

Chad turns his head away, looks out over the railing. “He fuckin’ loves you, dude. And God knows fuckin’ _why_ , but that’s how it is. Cartoon heart eyes and all. And you _know_ it, too. So, seriously, Ackles,” Chad says, flicking his cigarette. “What the fuck?”

Jensen hesitates, licks his lips. This is… not where he wanted to go with this conversation, but he’s here now. “Sometimes, I think maybe he should have picked someone else.”

Chad laughs. “Shit. Sometimes? You and me both, man. But he picked you. You make him happy.” 

“So you’ve never felt anything more than friendship?”

Chad exhales, turns his eyes on Jensen. “Lemme ask you something. You ever fucked any of your friends?”

Jensen frowns. “Of course not.”

“Right. Okay. You ever want to? I mean, in a serious way. Everybody thinks about what it would be like to fuck somebody they know at one point or another. I’m talking, you ever _really wanted_ to?”

“No.”

“And you’re gay, right? I’m not. So what makes you think I’d wanna fuck Jay, dude?”

Jensen sighs, rubs a hand across his chin. “The connection you two have.”

“So, any two people that close, they gotta be fucking, or at least wanting to?”

“That’s the only way it makes sense to me.”

“Dude, one of these days we seriously gotta work on your social autism.”

“What if Jared was a girl?”

“You’re asking a fuckin’ lot, dude. He’d make the ugliest chick ever. Like a fuckin’ mutant escapee from _To Wong Fu_ and shit. Lemme ask you this instead--You think me and Jared are a better match than you two are for each other?”

The question astounds Jensen. So much that he can’t even answer.

Chad shakes his head. “You know, you’re the fuckin’ original Ebenezer Scrooge. You totally need a ghost of Christmas past, present _and_ fuckin’ future to put your ass in line. Get that crazy fairy chick with the wand to beat you over the head a few times.”

“That’s _Scrooged_ ,” Jensen pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Whatever.” Chad waves him off, just getting warmed up, and Jensen bites back a sigh. “I mean, you’re not like Scrooge with the money and shit, but with the misanthropy.”

“I don’t hate people.”

Chad ignores him. “So Scrooge, he’s like, this guy who cares more about his job than anything else, hates everyone. Total asshole. Doesn’t have any friends, everybody hates him, but he doesn’t care. Scrooge is all like, screw these people, man, they ain’t never done nothin’ for me, why should I give them anything? They’ll just drag me under if I let them. He’s totally heartless until these three ghosts show up and are all; this is your life, you old geezer; this how you wanna end up? Dickens didn’t make the point clear enough though--”

“So you _have_ read the book?”

“Ask me how I’ve suffered.” Chad rolls his eyes. “But Scrooge didn’t suddenly discover some kind of magical fuckin’ love in his heart for these people. Sunshine didn’t bust out of his ass ‘cause he was all overcome and shit. He just realized he was a fuckin’ dickhead, and he didn’t wanna go out like that.” Chad raises his hands and looks at Jensen like he’s expecting Jensen’s face to light with celestial enlightenment.

Jensen clears his throat and curls his tongue against his jaw. “Meaning?”

“Christmas spirit was like, his _Chi_.” Chad makes grasping motions at the air with both hands. “He’s all ‘Merry fucking Christmas! Hey kid, take my money and buy the biggest turkey you can find and give it to the poor,’ and shit. He taps into the universe and finds that balance.”

“I thought we weren’t talking about my social autism?” Jensen asks, confused.

“Roll with me Ackles, this is universal Chad magic.”

“Could you bottom line it for me?” Jensen asks, arching his brows above his glasses.

Chad sighs, exasperated. “Fine. Here’s your bottom line; if you don’t think you’re the best thing in the fuckin’ universe for Jay, the problem’s not me, or Jay, or our hair pulling. Own it, dude. Spank your inner prick and belly up and buy somebody a fuckin’ Christmas turkey.”

Jensen considers that. “If I sometimes think he might be happier with someone else… doesn’t that mean I _am_ owning it?”

“Nah, man. That’s giving up. That’s like saying I’m too big a fuckin’ loser to even try. And you’re a lot of things, Ackles--God fuckin’ knows, I got a list--but you’re not that. Be a lot easier if you were. You just need to find your inner Christmas spirit, dude. Then everything falls into place. Like the movie we just watched, right? Nothing’s sure, everything’s chaos, so you just gotta fuckin’ pick. Which character are you?”

“Why did you ask me to come out here, Chad?” he asks, looking into Chad’s eyes. “Why do you talk to me?”

Chad hesitates, drags long off his cigarette. “I’m your surrogate.” He slouches back in his seat. “I mean, at this point I’m fuckin’ _part_ of this relationship, right? Shit. I should make it official and make you my sugar daddy.”

Chad’s going to let it go, so Jensen is, too. Jensen chuckles. “If I paid you enough, would you go away forever?”

“No fuckin’ way, Ackles. I’d come back from the _dead_ to _haunt_ your ass.”

Jensen bites the inside of his cheek, considers his next words, wonders why he even cares.

“Chad… are you ever going to call me Jensen?”

“Nope,” Chad blows a perfect smoke ring across the back porch, edges of it rippling.

“Why not?”

“You were my teacher.”

“I was your teacher three years ago for four months.”

“You got your kinks, I got my quirks. It’s all good, man,” Chad holds up both hands. “You stay over there, I’ll stay over here.”

Jensen shakes his head, can’t quite process it. “So, when you’re fifty, you’re still gonna be calling me Ackles?”

“Nah, then I’ll just call you grandpa,” Chad grins.

“That might be a little awkward with the sugar daddy deal.”

“Fish gotta fly, birds gotta swim, right? 

“If you were anybody else, I’d say you got that backwards.”

“Hey, if either of us was anybody else, it wouldn’t be true,” Chad says, ashing over the edge of the railing into the rosebushes. “Besides.” Chad shrugs. “I really kind of don’t like you.”

“Yeah, I hate you, too.”

“You want me to pull your hair?” Chad asks with a smirk.

Jensen laughs.

*

Chad leaves around midnight for his parents place, and Jared and Jensen both see him out. Jensen turns the locks on the door; it’s still hard, even after a year of practice, to turn and check them only once.

Jared leans back against the wall and stretches, muscles in his arms flexing, t-shirt riding up over his belly, tanned line of bare skin meant to tease Jensen as much as the arch of Jared’s spine as he leans his shoulders to the wall, hips jutting out. Jared’s eyes glitter, low and dark in the dim light, flashing at Jensen from under those long bangs. He’s so goddamned sexy, wide chest swelling as he yawns. Jared couldn’t be more perfect if Jensen had created him. 

Jared leaves his arms resting over his head, wrists against the wall, still looking at Jensen, and Jensen can’t hold back a smile. Steps up to Jared and hooks his thumbs through Jared’s belt loops, yanking those hips into his own, and Jared tilts his head back like an invitation.

There are some things Jensen _does_ understand. This? Is one of them.

There are a lot of reasons he’s always loved the dom/sub sexual relationship; the rules, the power play, the creativity it allows for, the way it turns both people on so much. Jensen’s always been exceptionally good at it. He’s good at reading people, but being able to read people is completely different from being able to relate to what you see. His gift is more subtle, more physical.

This is Jensen’s gift; reading the language of tiny muscle movements, the curl of a finger, the way a person’s back angles, their head moves, changes in their breathing. Want, need, limits, it’s all right there, laid out literally for him to see, and he knows how move into unity with it, knows he’s good at it. 

He tongues the line of Jared’s pulse, feels Jared shiver and lift his chin higher. Jared’s completely pliant; needing, willing, wanting, moaning and pushing into Jensen’s cock. Every line and angle and breath of his body begs _take me_ , _make me_ , _do what you want with me_. And it might be Jensen’s gift, but the incredible fucking hotness is just as much a motivator. It’s heady, anyone giving up that kind of control, even more intoxicating when it’s someone as huge and powerful and amazing as Jared is.

Jensen gets their clothes off, kissing Jared deep and hard, pushes him to the living room floor, those huge hands grasping at the carpet as Jensen slicks himself and pushes inside. Jared’s gasping, arching under him, and Jensen knows, understands. Jared wants to be taken rough and slow, Jensen’s hands pinning his wrists over his head and his hips to the floor. Jensen gives it to him with ragged thrusts of his hips, teeth tugging at the tender skin of his neck. Jared moans low and deep, throat exposed for Jensen, head twisting against the carpet, mouth open, eyes closed, and Jensen hears _perfect_ even before Jared speaks, groans out _God yes, like that_.

For all that Jensen’s got a gift, he’s never been as in tune with anyone as he is with Jared. It’s always been that way, and it’s a synchronicity that never fails to take his breath away.

He lowers his mouth to Jared’s, slides his tongue inside and sucks Jared’s in, circling slow. He can feel Jared’s heartbeat thundering through his ribs, pulsing all through him, connected body, blood and skin. Jared tightens his thighs around Jensen, heels digging into the base of Jensen’s spine. It feels right, perfect, pressed together like this, Jared licking the inside of his mouth, mapping out every curve like he’s never tasted Jensen before.

When Jared’s long past ready, Jensen reaches between them, wraps his hand around Jared’s cock, strokes hard and slow, mouth devouring Jared’s, hips dragging and pushing. He can feel the muscles in Jared’s stomach tense, body tightening around Jensen’s dick, knows Jared’s close. He angles his hips, pushes rough to the bottom, filling Jared as he thumbs the slick slit of Jared’s cock. He swipes the slick pad under the head, flicks once, twice, against the tiny bundle of nerves, squeezing with the rest of his hand, thrusts in and out with his hips, dragging over the sweet spot.

“Oh my fucking God,’’ Jared gasps, seizing.

When Jared comes, Jensen’s world explodes and contracts violently, Jared wrapped all around him, Jensen watching him, feeling him come apart from the inside out. Jared’s body flexes, exquisite tight squeeze like a velvet glove, and Jensen holds on, fingers clamped around Jared’s wrists and cock, still stroking and fucking Jared deep and slow. He watches as Jared spurts all over himself, tiny beads clinging to his chest and chin, belly painted with white streaks, eyes and mouth open wide, body twitching, twisting under Jensen. Jensen loves him like this. Beautiful as Jared is, he’s never more beautiful than when he’s caught in the grip of pure pleasure. Jensen wishes he could keep Jared right here, feeling and looking just like this, feels his heart swell and tighten all at the same time.

It’s still strange to Jensen, how much he loves Jared. How he can feel it like a physical thing, how he feels it so intensely in these moments. Love and _want_ wrapped so tight around each other that they’re inseparable, indistinguishable. It’s something he never thought he’d want to feel, and now he’s just grateful for it, every single day.

He watches until Jared’s shivering, body rigid, head thrown back into the carpet, hands clenched into fists. Jensen drags it out a little longer, takes the pleasure right to edge of pain before he lets go of Jared’s cock, palm dripping thick, wet slick. He slides his hand up to Jared’s face and Jared turns his head, sucks two of Jensen’s fingers into his mouth. Eager tongue, so soft between the webs of Jensen’s fingers, sucking the length with tiny, needy moans, and Jensen plunges, sinks his hips and pushes a little deeper. Jared hums, vibrations traveling through Jensen’s fingers, and Jensen fucks him deep, hard and fast until he pulses hot, buried inside Jared’s body, muscles trembling, fingers curling in Jared’s mouth, tips catching behind Jared’s teeth, tugging his jaw to the side.

When he’s done, he lets go of Jared’s wrists and lets his body fall against Jared’s, bellies slippery as he tilts Jared’s face back up, slides his fingers from between Jared’s lips. Jared’s just looking at him, eyes full of easy, lazy warm love, smile tilting his mouth up at the corners.

It’s one thing to know that someone loves you, that they’ll never leave you… but how do you ask if you’re good enough for them? _Enough_ for them at all? And how can you expect an honest answer when they love you this much? 

“What?” Jared asks, voice soft and husky.

Jensen leans down and kisses him, tongues melting together, faint trace of Jared’s come still lingering. Jensen slides his hands into Jared’s hair, holds Jared still as he licks Jared’s mouth clean, sucks on his tongue until the taste is gone.

*

Jared leaves to go back to school at five o’clock on Sunday with the kind of kiss that would normally make Jensen growl and throw his hot ass down if they hadn’t fucked for half the day already. When Jared’s gone, the house always feels empty. He’s used to that at this point. But this weekend, it feels even emptier than usual, quiet restlessness turning inside him that he can’t quite put a name to.

Jensen goes to the kitchen and pours his third glass of wine. He taps the cork against the countertop thoughtfully, watching tiny bubbles pop in the purple-red liquid in his glass.

He seals the bottle and carries the glass to the hall closet, pauses outside it, finger tracing the knob for a long moment before he opens it up, pulls out what he wants.

Sitting on the couch, Jensen thumbs through the photographs, careful not to get his fingerprints on the glossy paper. He doesn’t have many before Jared, almost all of them snapped by someone else, filed neatly inside an old shoebox he keeps on a dusty shelf. He’s never put them inside a photo album; photo albums are for people who want to show, want to remember and share the moments of their lives with other people. Most days, Jensen would rather forget.

A few pictures of his young childhood, his family; his parents have tons of these and he’s content with the few he has. Here, at four or five on a playground slide, there blowing out the candles on his seventh birthday cake. He doesn’t care much for these, always thumbs through them quickly. But this time he pauses, notices how he smiles, laughing and open, face growing more and more somber, angry as the years wear on. Then here, at twelve, expression rebellious in his English riding apparel; black blazer and yellow vest, face still round, eyes restless, one hand resting on the neck of a beautiful chestnut stallion. Rutherford. He hasn’t thought of Rutherford in years. 

Middle school, thirteen, Chris and a few other people he’s lost track of over the years, standing in the school hallway, trying hard to look cool and like they know a goddamned thing about life. His hair is longer here, blonder, falling forward onto his cheeks, face smooth, innocent. All he can see is anger behind the tight smile he’s giving the camera. Chris is smiling brightly next to him, arm slung around his shoulders. Jensen’s arms are folded over his chest.

High school, fifteen, him and Chris standing beside Chris’s older brother’s muscle car. He’s barely smiling here, green eyes too full of passionate rage to have room for much else. 

Sixteen with simmering eyes and a fading bruise on his cheek. He thinks it could have been from the fight with Robert Edley where Jensen’d thrown the first jibe and the first punch, smiling at the satisfying crunch of Robert’s nose. Robert had hit him once before Jensen had put him down for the count. That was one of the very few times out of a dozen or so that he actually got hit back.

High school party at someone’s house, him and Chris and Steve and Tim all piled onto a couch. His hair is short again, crew cut style. Chris is holding up a beer for the camera and grinning, pushing into Jensen like he’s trying knock him off the edge of the couch. They’ve got their arms around each other’s shoulders, but on Chris it looks… _natural_ , relaxed, comfortable. Jensen’s arm looks stiff wrapped around Chris and the smile he’s giving the camera is so thin and pasted on that it makes him pause. He has to be seventeen in this, and his eyes… they’re still angry, but colder, more distant here than in the one before.

He’s never paid this much attention to himself before, never scrutinized his expressions. 

God, had he always shown everything so clearly?

_What you’re thinking, all over your face, Jensen._

Her voice sounds inside his head in time with flipping to the next picture, and his breath catches.

It’s been years and years since he’s looked through these, and he’d forgotten…

Isabelle. So beautiful with her dark curls framing her face, ivory-pink skin and pale pink mouth curved in that enigmatic smile she wore like a mask and a weapon. She stares back at him with brown eyes so dark they’re almost black, glint of vague amusement in them.

He can still remember that afternoon in the hallway in his parent’s house, standing in the doorway of the guest bedroom with his heart pounding because she’d invited him there. 

_“I’ve seen the way you look at me, Jensen. I know what you want.”_

He remembers perfectly how she pulled him into the room, kissed him for the first time. How her mouth tasted of peppermint tea, lips firm and sure, pads of her fingers warm against his jaw. How he’d trembled, shaken, slid his tongue into her mouth as she pressed him against the wall, hoping like hell he could impress her. God, he’d been so young, barely sixteen, and she was a grown woman, so powerful and controlled. 

He’d been halfway to in love with her for most of his life.

He remembers how she’d worked one of her hands inside his pants and stroked him while she pinned him there, made him tell her he wanted to come, cheeks flushing. The way he’d wrestled against the words until she’d stopped touching him, and then they’d tumbled out, desperately. She’d smiled and rewarded him when they did. 

_“I’m going to give you everything you want. This and so much more,” she’d promised._

Isabelle. So much of himself tangled up in her, those two years of his life. Two years, and she’d done more to shape him, change him than anyone he’s ever known, until Jared.

He looks back at the picture where he’s seventeen, and he can see her there in him; her influence in the closed set of his face, the controlled poise of his body. 

_Fingers stroking his back, feather light touches over the welts the whip left behind. “Slowly… slowly…” she whispers. “One brick at a time.”_

He tucks her picture in at the back of the stack and goes to the kitchen for a refill.

*

Three more glasses of wine later, the photographs are put neatly back into their box, and Jensen’s sitting on the couch with his phone in his hand. He flips it open, hits number two on the speed dial.

“Chris,” he says, biting his lower lip as he hesitates. “Have I been a good friend to you?”

“Jen, is that you?” Chris sounds comically confused over the club noise in the background. “Because you _sound_ like Jensen, but the words coming out of your mouth are strange.” 

“I was looking through some of our old pictures today, and I was just wondering if… was I a good friend?”

“Are you drunk?”

“Maybe a little,” Jensen hedges.

“You haven’t drunk dialed me since college. You okay?”

“As I ever am.” Jensen runs a hand through his hair and hunkers down on the couch. 

“Where’s Jared?”

“Back at school. Look… this isn’t about Jared.”

“There’s something that exists that _isn’t_ about Jared?” Chris asks, and his voice is teasing, inviting Jensen to play, but he just… can’t. Not tonight.

“Screw you, Chris. I’m trying to ask you something serious.”

Chris pauses, and the noise in the background lessens. Jensen almost feels like they’re finally alone when Chris says, “Seriously, are you okay?”

“I’d be a lot better if you’d answered the goddamned question.”

“Jensen…” Chris sounds concerned for a second, and then his voice buzzes through the phone, sounding gritty. “You’ve been my best friend forever. You know that. What the fuck is going on?”

Jensen calculates, trying to push past the fuzziness of his brain. “We don’t pull each other’s hair.”

There’s a long pause on the other end. “How _many_ drinks have you had?”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s true, right?”

“You… want me to pull your hair?”

Jensen gives a dry laugh. “That’s what Chad said to me, too. The funny part is I still don’t know if he offered because he likes me or because he wants to kick my pansy, girly ass.”

“Chad? Well at least now I know why you’re not making sense.”

“Chad makes sense,” Jensen says, and then stops, blinking.

“Whatever it was… you drank the whole bottle, didn’t you?”

Jensen glances at the empty wine bottle on the table and shrugs.

“What the hell’s going on, Jen?”

“Nothing,” Jensen says, turning his face from the phone. “Never mind.”

“Right,” Chris says after a moment. “So we’ll just pretend this never happened.”

“Christ,” Jensen sighs, pressing a hand to his eyes. “I’m gonna have to explain this to you later.”

“Whenever you think you’re man enough. Or, you know, sober enough.”

“Fucker.”

Chris laughs. “Go to sleep, huh?”

“Yeah. Asshole,” Jensen mutters.

“Love you, too,” Chris says, and hangs up.

*

On Monday, he wakes up with a headache. After tea and toast, he takes two aspirin and sits down in front of his computer. He’s got some research to do on electromagnetism that might relate to something he’s been working on. He pulls up Google and clicks into the search field, stares at the blinking cursor, fingers hovering over the keyboard for long seconds before he begins to type. He hits enter, and for a second, he’s confused. The summaries don’t…

He glances up at the search box. _Existentialism_ , it reads, looking innocent. That’s just strange enough to unsettle him. His brain must still be stuck on Saturday night’s movie. He’s about to retype the word he wants when he notices one of the summaries.

_Existentialism, broadly defined, is a set of philosophical systems concerned with free will, choice, and personal responsibility._

It sounds like bullshit. It’s so… _freeform_ and subjective. Science is never certain, all theories offered up for dissection and disproving, but they have facts, a basis; _math_ that make them make sense.

_“Nothing’s sure, everything’s chaos, so you just gotta fuckin’ pick. Which character are you?”_

Jensen squints at the sentence on the screen mistrustfully for a second and then clicks.

_We spend our lives wanting more and more. We try to accept what we have; we turn to philosophy or religion to accept less. We want to detach from our worldly needs — but it’s the human condition to desire. To want. To seek more, even when that “more” is “more of less.” It’s a desire to prove something to ourselves, and others._

He glances down at the keyboard, image of Isabelle drifting through his mind.

_“I want to learn to be like you.”_

He purses his lips and hits the back button.

Jensen is very careful as he types the word ‘electromagnetism’ into the search field.

*

On Tuesday he has dinner with Chris and ends up telling him the whole story about Jared and Chad.

“Maybe you two just need some time alone together,” Chris offers, sipping a glass of wine. “Away from the world. Besides, you’ve needed a vacation for about ten years now.”

“Maybe,” Jensen shrugs, rolling the stem of his wineglass between his fingers.

“Okay,” Chris says, scrutinizing him. “What _else_ is bothering you?”

Jensen doesn’t even know where to start, so he just shrugs instead and takes another bite of his prime rib.

*

On Wednesday afternoon he catches his plane to the Rhode Island seminar, and after that he’s too busy getting settled in and meeting people and preparing for tomorrow to think about much else.

He understands how to do this, too. Numbers and formulas, data and principles; he understands these things the way he understands how people move. It’s like breathing, and he loses himself in it.

Thursday afternoon, and Jensen’s standing behind a podium at Brown University, speaking to several hundred students about Interacting Quantum Fields in de Sitter Space. He pushes his glasses to the bridge of his nose as he pauses between sentences.

“My colleague, Dr. Ian Woodward, and I have been working on a theory for several months now.” His phone vibrates in his pocket, and he hesitates for a split second.

It could be Ian texting him, but it probably isn’t. “To understand the theory, first we need to understand interacting quantum fields on a curved background,” Jensen says, glancing down at the display. 

_i’m wearing the plug today, in class. –delete this_

“Quantum field theory on a curved background,” Jensen goes on, beginning to type, “is supposed to describe correctly the influence of a gravitational field on quantum fields, as long as the relevant length scales are much larger than the Planck length.” He takes a breath as he finishes writing his message. “The modifications compared to quantum field theory on Minkowski space are mainly due to some nonlocal features in the standard formulation of quantum field theory.”

_hope you’re enjoying it. you’re going to wear it all day tomorrow until i see you. –delete this_

Jensen hits send and has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smirking. 

“The most important ones,” he says without missing a beat, sliding the phone back into his pocket, “are the spectrum condition and the existence of a vacuum.”

He gives the rest of his lecture imagining all the ways he’s going to torture Jared for teasing him.

*

It’s 9PM before Jensen finally gets back to his hotel room. Several professors had insisted on taking him to dinner after talking him to death for three hours straight, and then, over Maine lobster, proceeded to talk him to death some more. 

Jensen’s about ready to disassociate himself from interacting quantum fields forever. He loves scientific discussion to what some might call an unhealthy degree, but these professors love it even more. He’d had enough _before_ they went to dinner. Not to mention that he’s been thinking about Jared with a plug in his ass all day. Sometimes, he’s extra grateful for his trained patience.

He loosens his tie with a flex of his fingers, tugs the knot down to his collarbone, fingers of his other hand already working open his cell phone.

There’s a text message from Jared; _call me -delete this_. Jensen drops the phone on the atrociously patterned hotel bedspread and moves to the closet. 

He takes his time undressing, hangs everything back in the closet straight and neat. He doesn’t bother putting on his pajama pants, just lies down on top of the bedspread and reaches for his phone.

“Hey.” Jared’s voice is soft and he sounds out of breath as he answers the phone. 

“So, how was school?” Jensen asks, voice dark and playful.

“Distracting,” Jared answers, and Jensen can hear him grin, the way he says it.

“Are you still wearing it?”

“No. Just to class.” Jared pauses for a second. “Jensen… I don’t know if I can do that _all day_.”

This, from the guy who teased himself to death all day before he made himself come in class. Of course Jared can do it—he can do _anything_ \--and they both know it. This is just another variation in this game they play with each other.

Jensen turns his face into the phone, drops his voice a notch. “I was just thinking how hot it would be to keep you like that all the time. Just slide it out, bend you over and fuck you any time I felt like it.”

“Jesus fuck,” Jared hisses, voice going deep and raw with want.

There aren’t many sounds in the world Jensen loves more. “Tomorrow…” Jensen says, stroking the edge of the phone with his forefinger, “I’m going to make you pay for teasing me. But tonight… I want you to put three fingers in that sweet little ass of yours and jerk your cock until you come, while I listen. 

“Fucking _Christ_.” Jared groans, low guttural sound. Jensen wishes Jared was here, wants to see that look of utter need, tease Jared’s skin with his fingers just as much as his words. 

“Wore that plug today like a fucking slut. I know you’re already spread wide open. Get your hot ass on the bed and do what I said.”

The catch in Jared’s breath is its own reward, but then he says, “Yes, sir,” and it hits Jensen like a fist to the gut, heat rushing through him.

He can hear Jared moving on the other end, can almost _see_ him stripping down, that long, lean, hard naked body. 

“On the bed, naked,” Jared breathes, and Jensen can imagine him lying there, waiting to be told what to do next. It’s such a fucking pretty picture.

“Is your ass all stretched open, Jared? Slick your fingers for me, reach down and feel.”

“God,” Jared moans. “Yeah.”

Jensen can imagine it; Jared’s pretty pink hole spread open under his long, hard cock, fingers just barely touching himself, running slick circles around the rim. Bites his lower lip and trails a hand down his chest, fingers tracing the shape of his own muscles.

“All afternoon, sitting in class, fucking plug inside your ass, squirming in your seat. Loved it, didn’t you? Being like that in front of all those people.” Fingertips clenching in the muscles of his abdomen, and he loves it, hates it, Jared on display, no one even knowing it.

“God, yes,” Jared whispers, and Jensen knows he’s dying for more, waiting, desperate with his hand between his legs.

“Tell me, Jared…” Jensen says, voice going deep and dangerous. “Did you touch yourself afterwards?”

Jared’s silent for a long moment. “Couldn’t help it,” he breathes, like he’s asking for forgiveness.

“Of course you did, you fucking slut. Never get enough, do you?” Jensen asks. “You didn’t even take it out, did you? Left it in and fisted your cock until you came all over yourself.” 

“Yes.”

Jensen’s made Jared ride his cock and jerk off enough to know exactly what he looked like when he did it, too. He’s been hard since he laid down on the bed, but his cock goes even harder with the image. “Loved every second, didn’t you?”

“Wished it was you inside me.”

“Don’t worry. Gonna fuck your hot little ass out tomorrow,” Jensen promises. “Now, fuck yourself on your fingers for me. Three, Jared. All at once.”

The noise Jared makes as he pushes his fingers inside himself sends a rush through Jensen, blood pumping hard and fast, and he wraps a hand around his own cock, slides it down slow.

“Slipped right in, didn’t they?” Jensen asks, raspy edge to the words. “All the way to your knuckles.”

“Yeah.” Jared’s voice is strained, breathless. 

That’s so fucking hot that Jensen squeezes his cock harder, hand moving slow up and down. “Knew it. Fucking slut. Now, get your hand around your cock and fist it while you ride your hand.”

“God. Fuck,” Jared gasps, and Jensen can see him, naked on the bed, head tilted back, teeth biting his bottom lip as he moves his hips, rocking back and forth between his fingers and his fist, muscles straining, starting to sweat.

“God, the fucking things I’m going to do to you tomorrow,” Jensen groans, stroking himself a little faster. “You’re going to put that plug inside your ass when you wake up tomorrow and wear it all day. Want you to feel it every time you move, every time you hit a bump in the road. And then when you get here, you’re going to strip, go to the desk like you used to, so I can enjoy the view, fucking plug shoved up inside you. Keeping you all stretched open for me so I can just slip it out and shove my cock right inside.”

Jared bites off a moan, and Jensen can tell by the way Jared’s breathing that he’s getting close. “Yeah, that’s it. Come for me with your fingers in your ass.” Jensen closes a fist around the phone, shoves his hips into his hand and bites down on the inside of his cheek. He’s dangerously close himself, and the sound of Jared moaning, gasping out _Fuck, God_ , sends him rushing to the edge, the image of Jared spilling thick and pearly white all over his hand and belly, three fingers shoved in his ass, sends him over it.

“Christ,” he gutters out, stomach muscles flexing for one last drive into his own fist. His orgasm hits him hard and fast, Jared still moaning in his ear. Slick heat all over his stomach, his fingers, and it makes the friction better, cock slipping, sliding through his fist, riding out the last scorching rushes of pleasure.

They both just breathe for a minute or two, and Jensen wipes his hand on his chest. “Okay?”

“Mmhmm.”

He loves the way Jared sounds, sleepy and sated, and he wishes again that Jared was here, warm length of him pressed up against Jensen. “So how was the rest of your day?”

“Not bad,” Jared answers. “How’d your seminar go?”

Jensen tells him about the torturous evening he endured, and Jared tells Jensen about his classes, the chemistry paper he’s working on tonight.

“Which I really should get back to,” Jared finishes with a sigh.

“Due tomorrow?”

“Yeah. I’ve still got a few hours to go.”

Jensen shakes his head. “If I was your teacher I’d beat your ass for waiting until the last minute.”

“You don’t have to be my teacher to do that—but I liked it when you were.”

That brings back memories—Jared bent over the school desk, ass bright red with ruler marks while Jensen fucks him, tie wrapped around Jensen’s hand. It makes him feel a little nostalgic. “Maybe I should make you wear your old school uniform and teach you a lesson or two.” 

Jared moans low in his throat, sounding needy. “Okay, I really better go now, or I’m not going to get _anything_ done.” He sounds sulky, like he doesn’t want to go. Jensen can all too easily picture the pouty look on Jared’s face, the faint jut of Jared’s lower lip, and he has to hold back a chuckle. 

“Miss you,” Jensen whispers. It’s something he always feels, but not something he mentions often, and he can hear Jared’s soft breath of surprise. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“Can’t wait,” Jared says, and it makes Jensen smile.

* 

Jensen catches an early flight and by the time he gets home on Friday and unpacks, he’s still got five hours before Jared gets there. He carefully re-files all the information he took to the seminar, adds a few notes and locks up his filing cabinets. Then, he puts on some music, snaps on plastic gloves and detail cleans the kitchen. He’s not as obsessive about it as he used to be, but it does still have to get done, occasionally. 

Jared’s here, in all the little details. The pictures of the two of them held to the refrigerator by magnets (the ones that still occasionally freak Jensen out because pictures belong in frames; not stuck to the fridge with Mr. Yuck and glittery _Buffalo Exchange_ magnets), the box of Honeycombs on the counter next to the fridge, the addition of bananas to the fruit basket, the half a shelf of junk food in the pantry. He pauses in front of the refrigerator as he passes it again, eyes caught by a picture of the two of them standing side by side. His arm is loose, natural, wrapped around Jared’s waist, and his smile is genuine—amused and fond—looking at Jared as Jared makes a face at the camera. The bay is in the background, bits of glittering blue captured at their edges.

When Jared finally gets there, Jensen’s well settled in the living room, sunk deep in his chair, book open in his lap.

Jensen can hear him close the front door, see from the corner of his eye that Jared heads immediately to the desk. The second he lays hands on himself and begins to undress, Jensen sets the book aside and lifts his head to watch.

Jared is beautiful, perfect, looking down at the floor, playing the part of the chagrined submissive as he pulls his belt buckle open. But the way his fingers move, certain and sure, tell Jensen that his slowness is more for Jensen’s benefit than his. His breathing is quick and slightly sharp, and the tension in his body is completely fearless, caused by hours of pent up need.

Jared steps out of his jeans and boxers, folds them neatly and sets them aside. He touches the hem of his t-shirt and gives Jensen a quick glance, questioning. Jensen nods. Jared strips the shirt over his head, folds it on top of the pile, and then stands straight for Jensen’s inspection. God. His gorgeous mouth, that wide, well-muscled chest, the narrow waist and slim hips, those long, long legs, his cock huge and hard. Jensen takes the time to appreciate the view, thumb and forefinger spread across his chin. Jared’s so hot he blows Jensen’s mind every single time Jensen sees him. He doesn’t let any of that show on his face, though, keeps his expression neutral; that’s the game they’re playing right now.

Jared turns around after several long seconds, light shifting over the landscape of his muscles, and bends his long upper body across the desk.

Legs spread, black plastic plug set in the center, pink rim clinging to the edges, plumped around the base. It’s so fucking hot it’s criminal. Jensen feels his cock twitch, bites his lower lip and wills himself to breathe. It instantly takes him back to when Jared used to stand there every weekend, how different it was then. How he had to keep this feeling—this incredible _want_ in check. Looking at Jared now, spread open and bent across the desk for him, he thinks it’s no wonder how miserably he failed on more than a few occasions.

He wonders if Jared has any _idea_ how hard Jared makes it for Jensen to keep control of himself.

Jensen gets to his feet and moves up behind Jared. If Jared hadn’t been hopelessly turned on all day, Jensen would make him wait to draw out the anticipation. But they’ve both been anticipating long enough. Jensen unbuttons and unzips his jeans, pulls out his aching hard cock. Jensen knows Jared can hear everything Jensen’s doing, how much it’s turning Jared on. Jared has no idea what’s about to happen, and he’s dying for it, anyway. Jensen reaches for the lube on the desk, slicks the thick length of himself with a slow hiss of pleasure, makes sure Jared hears that, too.

He presses his hand between Jared’s shoulders blades, palm flat, fingers spread, holds him to the desk. He can feel Jared’s heartbeat speed up, breath quickening. Jensen trails his fingertips up the inside of Jared’s thigh, teasing the skin. 

“God, you’ve been so fucking turned on all day, haven’t you?” Jensen asks, voice rough and gritty, presses his fingers against the base of the plug, and Jared twists, shivers, moaning. “Dying to come, aren’t you?” he asks, pressing in again. 

“Fuck. Please,” Jared groans, and he’s so gorgeous, pink mouth wide open, face pressed against the desk, wanting so _much_. 

“No. You don’t get to come until I let you.” Jensen grips the base, turns the plug and feels Jared tremble, hissing out a breath. “Not until I’m done with you. Teasing me like that.” He leans down, nipping the soft skin of Jared’s earlobe between his teeth. “I told you a long time ago,” fingernails digging into the skin of Jared’s back, “what happens to teases… didn’t I, Jared?”

Jared moans, shuddering, and Jensen smiles, stands up. Jensen slides the plug out, black plastic glistening slick with lube. Jared’s wide open, ready and waiting, and Jensen pushes in, sinks his cock to the base, groaning out his pleasure. Jared’s searing hot inside, hot and so fucking _tight_ , body gripping Jensen, inner muscles fluttering, Jared crying out. 

Jensen leans down, licks a slow trail up Jared’s shoulder, sinks his teeth into the meat. “Knew you could fucking take it,” he whispers out, hoarse. “Fuck. All spread open for me.” He draws back, feels Jared’s inner muscles pull and tug, not wanting to let go, sweet fucking friction. 

“Still so fucking _tight_ though,” Jensen hisses, breathing out hard. “Jesus, Jared.”

Grinding, pushing thrust, pressing into the place he knows is Jared’s sweet spot. He doesn’t need to feel it to know he’s hitting it, the way Jared cries out underneath him, hips surging into Jensen. Jensen bites Jared hard then stands up, puts his other hand on the base of Jared’s spine, fingers to skin as he leans all his weight forward, pinning Jared down. 

Jared feels perfect—God, always feels perfect, so tight and hot, muscles rippling under Jensen. Their bodies are just starting to slick with sweat, perfect slide in and out, and they’ve fucked so many times, so many different ways, but it never stops being amazing. Jensen bites his lower lip, fingers twitching against Jared’s skin, slow slick slide to the bottom, and fuck, that’s fucking good. 

Jared lifts his head from the desk, tries to arch his spine in that way that means _more, harder, faster_. Jensen slides his fingers up into that thick, silky hair, twists Jared’s face down against the desk and slams into Jared with his hips, feels Jared shudder and moan in that way that means Jensen got it just _right_ , muscles fluttering around Jensen’s cock.

“God, want it so much, don’t you?” Jensen grates, hips dragging out, slamming in. “Can’t even wait to get fucked.” Jensen arches his spine, thrusting downward. Jared twists underneath him, crying out as Jensen pushes into the sweet spot from a different angle. 

He loves it, Jared pliant, wanting, begging underneath him, every tiny shiver of pleasure that runs through his body because Jensen’s touching him, fucking him, kissing him. He holds Jared still and rides him with pistoning snaps of his hips, punishing thrusts that make Jared moan and shudder, body jolting with the impact. Harder, faster, nails digging into Jared’s skin until Jared’s keening, limp against the desk.

“God, just laying there… taking it… getting your ass fucked out like a slut… aren’t you?” Jensen grunts out between thrusts, pounding into Jared harder, Jared’s hips lifting from the desk. “Gonna fill you up with come like a fucking slut, too,” Jensen promises. Jared’s body gripping him tight, cock slamming in and out, and he feels his stomach tighten, balls drawing up tight, orgasm exploding out of him in a sudden rush. His fingers slip against Jared’s skin, body going taut, cock slamming home one final time, ragged bursts of pleasure tearing from him as he pulses helplessly, breathlessly, so hard he sees stars behind his eyes.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he whispers, fingers flexing against Jared. He pulls out slow, watches Jared whimper and writhe on the end of his cock before he slides free.

Jensen steps back, strips out of his clothes quickly. He puts a hand on each of Jared’s cheeks, spreads him open, and Jared makes a soft, eager sound. Jensen runs a finger through the slickness between Jared’s legs, gathering a trail of come on the tip, and pushes it back inside. “God. Tight little hole all fucked open, my come leaking out of you.” Jensen chases every trail with slow fingertips, pushes them inside one by one, Jared shivering and whimpering each time Jensen’s finger dips inside him. “Love it, don’t you?”

“God, yes,” Jared moans.

When every trace of stickiness is back inside Jared’s body, Jensen presses the rubber tip of the plug where Jared’s open, waiting.

“Gonna plug my come inside you,” Jensen promises, voice unsteady as he teases Jared’s hole. “Keep you wet and open so I can fuck you again whenever I feel like it.” Jared shivers, hips twitching, and Jensen smiles—Jared’s always so fucking eager—pushes the tip in slow, watching Jared stretch around it, opening easily until he gets to the widest part of the base. “And I’m _going_ to fuck you again, Jared.”

Jensen turns the base, pressing in, hears Jared hiss in a breath as his body sucks the plug inside with a quiet pop. He loves the way it looks, flush against Jared’s body. 

“Fuck, Jensen. God.” Jared’s voice sounds like broken glass, jagged and shattered. “Feels so fucking good.”

“You should see it,” Jensen says. “Pretty hole all stretched around it, black rubber against your pink skin.” He leans in close, drags his mouth along Jared’s neck, tracing patterns with his tongue, turns his face into the curve and pushes on the plug. “Keeping you ready for me.” He presses his fingers against the plug, pushing lightly, Jared gasping, shuddering. “So…” he pushes, turns his cheek and bites Jared’s throat, “motherfucking…” push, lick, suck, “ _hot_.”

Jared whimpers, straining, thighs shivering.

Jensen catches the end of the plug between his fingers, turns it inside Jared’s body. Jared inhales sharply, stiffening, and before he can adjust to the sensation, Jensen twists it again and pops the base from Jared’s body, rest of the length still inside. Jared moans, whole body convulsing at the unexpected sensation, the sudden loss—right before Jensen shoves it back in and Jared’s body swallows it, sudden fullness stretching him. Jensen knows it pushes hard against Jared’s sweet spot for a second before it settles in—can tell by the way Jared clenches his hands against the desk, fresh sweat beading all over his body, trying so hard not to move.

“Please,” he gasps. “Fuck.” Jared sounds like he’s going to break.

“Wanna keep you like this all the time, Jared,” Jensen whispers, licking a line along Jared’s jaw. “My perfect little slut. Always ready for me to use.” Jensen slides the plug out, in, watches Jared’s face, the total ecstasy in his expression, catches Jared’s lower lip between his teeth. He drags his mouth down the curve of Jared’s throat, the line of his spine, kissing, biting each knob of bone, tongue delineating the edges, down, down to the dip between his hips, the curve of his ass, fingers moving the plug in and out, slow, never quite all the way. Jared’s desperate now; quick sharp breaths on the edge of mewling, muscles pulling into knots.

Jensen smoothes his cheek against the base of Jared’s spine and presses in again. He lets his other hand slide down lower between Jared’s legs, lightest pressure behind his balls, then circles his fingers around the velvety smooth skin of Jared’s sac, tugs, just a little. Jared’s hips twitch up from the desk and Jensen tugs again, feels Jared hiss. God, skin so tight, so ready to come.

He puts his hands on Jared’s hips, flips him over on the desk. Jared’s still reeling from the sudden turn, and Jensen rests his hand on Jared’s belly, licks his lips and wraps them around the crown of Jared’s dick. Jared surges up off the desk with a sudden sharp cry and Jensen shoves him back down, holds him there while he twists his neck and sucks down the length, tongue unfurling slow, swirling over the center vein.

“Jesus _fuck_. Oh my _God_ , Jensen.”

Jensen smiles, keeps his lips sealed as he sucks to the top, tonguing under the head and then licking smooth across. Puts his fingers against the plug and _pushes_ deep before tugging it out. He loves getting Jared wound up like this. Anyone can get someone off; Jensen gets off on making getting off an _event_.

He swallows Jared with another smooth thrust of his neck, hollows his cheeks and sucks hard to the head, once, twice. Jared trembles underneath him like an earthquake.

“God. Fuck. Gonna—”

Jensen yanks the plug free and pulls his mouth off in one smooth motion, Jared almost sobbing with need. He pushes Jared’s legs up and sinks inside him all the way to the base, fingers picking up the rhythm where his mouth left off. 

Jensen’s never pushed anyone as far as he takes Jared. Jared doesn’t _have_ a limit.

All the breath leaves Jared’s body as Jensen slides into him, eyes going wide, body arching up off the desk. 

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my motherfucking _God_.”

Jared comes with a shout, so hard his upper body rises halfway up off the desk, and Jensen yanks him the rest of the way up, puts one hand on his ass to hold him in place and kisses him hard, fingers stroking his cock, hips thrusting deep and fast. “Yeah. Just… like… fucking… _that_ ,” Jensen breathes, flicks his thumb under the head as he fucks deep and feels Jared’s whole body shudder and seize. Jared’s mouth is open and breathless, eyes rolling back in his head, another thick stripe of come streaking his chest. He’s frozen with pleasure, utterly still except for the twitching of his muscles, the contractions of his body, squeezing and convulsing around Jensen.

Jared sucks in a ragged breath like he’s drowning for air, hands grabbing Jensen’s shoulders, nails raking desperate trails, tearing at Jensen’s skin. Jared’s completely losing it, coming so fucking _hard_.

“Fuck yes,” Jensen growls, shoves with his hips, strokes Jared’s cock with a twist of his wrist. Short, sharp cry torn from Jared’s chest, golden skin flushed, veins standing out in his neck, and he pulses again, hot, slick splash streaking Jensen’s stomach. 

“So fucking hot when you come for me,” Jensen rasps.

Jensen thrusts again, teasing the sweet spot, rubbing the crown of Jared’s dick, and Jared whines high in his throat. Jared arches, body falling backwards away from Jensen, and Jensen catches him before he hits the desk, shoves deep and squeezes, watches Jared streak himself from belly to chest, writhing, thrashing, body quivering, coming apart, gripping Jensen like a vice.

“Please,” Jared gasps, and Jensen doubts even Jared knows if he’s begging for mercy or for more—but Jensen knows which one he’s going to get.

He twists his hips just a little, sinks in, thumbing the wet slit of Jared’s cock. Jared makes a strangled sound in his throat, stomach muscles seizing one last time, pulling his shoulders from the desk, cock convulsing one last time. Jared clenches, rigid for a moment, and then he goes limp against the desk, body quivering with aftershocks as Jensen keeps riding him. He looks like a glistening sculpture, muscles sheathed in sweat, fucked out and perfect. Jared’s so gorgeous, covered in his own come, so slick and hot inside, still so motherfucking _tight_. Jensen grunts, pushes, feels his orgasm rush him like a speeding train, fingers digging deep into Jared’s shoulders, shuddering and growling, teeth sunk into his lower lip so hard that he has to let go before he draws blood.

“So… goddamned… _perfect_ ,” Jensen gasps, falling forward, mouth sealing over Jared’s. Jared’s body under his, chest to chest, belly to belly, slick slide of skin.

He comes to, face buried in the curve of Jared’s throat, taste of salty skin on his lips. 

“God, I missed you,” Jared whispers, turning his cheek to press warm lips to Jensen’s forehead.

Jensen smiles, kisses the line of Jared’s pulse. “Hungry?”

“Hell yes,” Jared sighs.

*

They eat roasted chicken at the dining room table, Jared explaining to Jensen how he got his chemistry paper done at the last minute, doing rewrites right up until the professor called for it.

“I want to see the grade,” Jensen says, sliding his glasses to the bridge of his nose.

Jared just stares at him for a second, wide-eyed and so incredibly easy to read.

“God, I hope I failed,” he breathes.

Jensen puts a fist to his chin and shakes his head. “So fucking insatiable,” he smiles.

“You love it,” Jared tells him, grinning. “And me.”

And well, Jensen can’t really argue with that.

*

They talk some more about theoretical physics and engineering, which eventually devolves into trading quips and jeers about which field yields more results, and Jared finally throws his dinner napkin at Jensen, thick ball of cloth catching Jensen right on the chin.

Jared dissolves into laughter for all of two seconds before Jensen’s on his feet, and then Jared’s tearing ass through the living room. Jensen squeezes his eyes shut, tries not to imagine the extent of the damage if Jared trips and falls. 

“You’ve got that scary, sexy terminator walk going for you,” Jared grins when Jensen finally pins him on the bed.

“ _This_ is a _compliment_?”

“It is if you were young and gay and impressionable when you saw the movies for the first time.”

“You are truly twisted,” Jensen says, shaking his head with mock-sorrow.

“Hey,” Jared says, teasing. “Why do you think I fell for you in the first place?”

“This bears research,” Jensen says, sitting up.

“I’ll get the movies.” Jared’s beaming as he bounces up from the bed.

*

After, they fall asleep tangled in the sheets, spooned together with Jensen’s arm wrapped around Jared’s stomach. 

When Jensen opens his eyes, Isabelle’s there, straddling his hips. 

“Okay. This is weird,” Jensen says, lifting his head from the pillow.

He hears something move beside him, cranes his neck. Chad’s spread out on the other side of the bed, smoking a cigarette. Afternoon sunlight slants in through the glass window, blinding golden glow as it catches in his hair. He’s dressed in white from head to toe, one hand pressed under his chin.

“And… getting weirder,” Jensen breathes.

Chad shrugs. “Dude. That’s what **I** said. I tried to tell my agent. This shit’s never gonna fly on network TV.”

Jensen turns his eyes back to Isabelle, becomes aware that there are five rows of solitaire spread out on the expanse of his belly. She turns over a card and lays it against Jensen’s body. There are manacles fastened around her delicate wrists, chains flowing out from them, fading beyond Jensen’s line of vision. She’s not looking at him, but he can feel her eyes on him, accusing, dark and bemused. 

Her fingers are tiny and pale, nails a luscious blood-red as she draws another card from the stack.

“There aren’t enough cards in that deck,” he tells her.

“Really, Jensen,” she huffs and lays the King of Diamonds on his abdomen. “You don’t even understand the game.” 

“No. I know this,” he says, and her face wavers, looking up and smiling, eyes never leaving the cards on his stomach. “You have to complete the sequence. It’s math.”

“The math isn’t the point. It’s the lesson,” Isabelle says, practical as she lays down the Jack of Hearts. The younger face covers the King’s, the two of them twisting, bleeding together.

Jensen reaches down, fingers closing around the edges of the card. His fingers feel clumsy as he turns it over in his hands.

“You’re not looking in the right place,” Isabelle sighs.

Jared is behind her, and he leans in, chin resting on Isabelle’s shoulder as he watches. He whispers something into her ear that Jensen can’t hear, and Isabelle smiles. Turns her head and catches Jared’s mouth with her wine colored lips. Jared’s hand on her face, fingers clutching.

“Come on, Jensen; let’s see what you’ve got in there.” Malicious glee as she digs her fingers into his chest, nails scratching through skin, puncturing muscle beneath.

“Help me.”

“I’m just the messenger,” Chad says, sounding apologetic. “I can’t change history.”

Her _fingers_ are in his chest, digging under the ribs and _clawing_.

He doesn’t scream; won’t give her the satisfaction.

She opens him, empties him. And when it’s over, the Jack of hearts is still clutched in his hand. The card is heavy against his fingers, and when he looks at it, he can see that it’s a key. 

“You don’t need that,” Chad assures.

“It’s all I’ve got.” The words are hard given, frothed with blood and will.

Chad drags on his cigarette, bites his lower lip, releases and slides his tongue between. “Yeah. I know. And it’s my job to show you this, right? This is bullshit,” Chad declares, exhaling smoke. “Ghost of Christmas Past. Your biggest role ever, Chad,” he snorts, rolling his eyes. “My _ass_. My agent is SO gonna hear about this shit.”

“Jensen.” Isabelle’s fingers on his face, turning his chin.

It isn’t her. It’s his own face staring back at him, his own hands covered in his blood. 

Jensen wakes, sitting up suddenly. Jared is lying beside him sleeping peacefully, body sprawled over half the bed.

_Okay. **That** was disturbing._

In fact, he can’t work out which part was the _most_ disturbing. Chad? Really? What the hell is _Chad_ doing in his dreams?

_You totally need a ghost of Christmas past, present **and** fuckin’ future to put your ass in line._

He lays there for a few minutes, turning the dream over in his mind, the feeling it left him with still heavy in the pit of his stomach. Finally, he rises from the bed and slips on his pajama pants, pads quietly out to the living room. The laptop monitor clicks on brilliant white when he lifts the lid, and it blinds him, leaves him blinking and squinting for a moment.

He types the word into Google, finger tapping against the enter key for a long moment before he actually hits it. 

_Responsibility is the dark side of freedom. It is difficult to understand that you are completely responsible for your decisions, actions, and beliefs. The impulse is to ignore it, deny your freedom, your responsibility. But that means you’re ignoring or denying your actual situation. You succeed only in deceiving yourself._

Jensen knows all this already. He’s faced his trials. He knows he can’t control anyone but himself. That’s why he perfected it to an art form.

And here he is at 4AM, sitting in front of his computer, Googling fucking _existentialism_ like it’s going to unlock the secrets of the universe, with Chad-of-Christmas-past as his mental guide. It’s not _quite_ rock bottom, but it ranks.

He rubs his hands over his face, fingertips pressing in against his eyes and sighs.

“You okay?” Jared’s voice is soft as he pads up behind Jensen, arms circling Jensen’s neck, chin resting on his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he sighs, leaning back into Jared’s embrace.

“ _You’re_ reading about existentialism?” Jared can’t keep the surprise from his voice, and Jensen really can’t blame him. Jensen’s a philosophy man, but more than that, he’s a science man. Existentialism is _way_ too squishy to rate on his scale.

“You should know,” Jensen says, “I blame Chad entirely for this shit.”

Jared huffs out a laugh into Jensen’s neck, tightens his arms a little and presses a kiss to Jensen’s throat. “He told you to read up on existentialism? And you listened? Did the pod people come while I was sleeping?”

Actually, considering Jensen’s dream, that’s not too far off base. 

“I just had a weird dream,” he shrugs.

“Was Chad in it?” Jared asks, teasing.

“Yes,” Jensen says, wry. “And he was _very_ upset with his agent for getting him a part in my dream.”

Jared laughs out loud. “Oh, my God.”

“Tell him and they’ll never find your body.”

Jared chuckles, kisses the shell of Jensen’s ear. “Come back to bed,” Jared whispers. He feels warm, solid and real against Jensen, and the last fragments of his dream scatter, the feeling in the pit of his stomach easing. He spins the chair around slow, inside the circle of Jared arms, kisses him once, warm lips, barest brush of tongue.

“Jared… how do you feel about taking a vacation?”

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Money's not an object. Jensen comes from old money. He had a trust fund before he was born and by the time he was old enough to touch it, he'd already learned how to make his own investments with it. He has more money than he knows what to do with, sometimes. His parents have even more than that.

They decide on the destination together; Jared wants beaches and Jensen's fine with that as long as it's somewhere that's not infested with tourists. He wants culture, seclusion. They flirt with the idea of Huahine, an island in French Polynesia. It's near Bora Bora, but it's overlooked; a rural sanctuary with 5,000 or so inhabitants and minimal resort development. It's the kind of place where you can find yourself on a stretch of beach alone for miles.

Jensen takes his time studying it, the history and culture of the native Tahitians, their beliefs and traditions, reading accounts of other people who have traveled there. Tahitians are peaceful, friendly, gentle people, who believe they cannot control nature or others, fascinating in every way. Huahine is known for its rather rebellious, independent mindset. Jensen spends hours reading, drawn to their focus on "realness" and the tradition of their tattooing; beautiful artwork that follows the contours of the body, accentuating, each design representing the individual self. He's never thought much of tattoos, putting pictures or words on the body, but this… this is gorgeous, pure art, triangles and lines, graceful swirls and circles that become _part_ of the person.

Huahine, pronounced wah-ee-nee by the French and who-a-hee-nay by Tahitians. Jensen's sold. Quick conversation between the two of them and Jensen books the flight, rents a beach house for three weeks from now, the day after Jared's last final.

*

The days pass quickly with planning. Jensen makes phone calls and arrangements and makes checklists of everything he thinks they might need. The weekends are full, juggling Chad-time, and studying and sex with Jared. On the day of Jared's last final, Jensen's had everything packed for three hours when Jared walks through the front door at 7pm and throws his arms up in victory.

"I win."

"Like there was ever any doubt?" Jensen smiles, pulling him in.

*

Huahine is just as gorgeous in reality as it was in the photos. Their beach house is set back among the coconut palms, in between spaces of dense foliage, long fronds of leaves hanging low, almost secluding the house completely. Down a short, dirt path that winds through the palms is the beach; brilliant white sand that ends in crystalline, cerulean sea. There's a long, weathered dock stretching out over the water, sailboat docked to the end.

"A boat?" Jared says, disbelieving. "Is that ours?"

"For as long as we're here."

"You know how to sail?"

"My family used to take the boat out all the time when I was a kid. I didn't have much of a choice." 

"All these hidden talents," Jared says, grinning at him, hand shading his eyes. "What else do you know how to do?"

Jensen grins, wry. "High society insisted that I had to learn to dance, play the piano, ride horses, play tennis, and sail, among other things." 

"Piano? Tennis?" Jared's voice lilts, teasing. "Are you sure your family didn't set out to _make_ you gay?"

No. Jensen's pretty sure they didn't. It's just a good thing for his parents that being gay became fashionable among the jet set in the last ten years. 

"Don't make me show you my wicked backhand," Jensen smirks.

"I don't know," Jared says, moving closer to him. The sun is hot, key on his bare chest blistering against the skin as they press together. "I think I could stand to see it," he grins, meaning clear. 

The house is close, just a short walk up the path. They make it halfway, Jensen pushing Jared up against a coconut palm, bodies moving together under the heavy scent of green, sunlight rippling through the fronds across their skin.

*

Jensen insists on unpacking before they go anywhere else, everything put away and organized into closets and drawers and cabinets. Then he inspects the house to make sure they're fully stocked with necessities as promised. Jared is patiently helpful, checking things off lists as Jensen calls them out. When that's done, Jensen takes inventory of the boat necessities, and once he's satisfied they're not going to get stranded on the water, they get underway. 

It's been so long since Jensen sailed… he'd almost forgotten that there's a serenity to it, a rhythm and a peace that settles in. Sunlight dances on the rolling surface of the water, small waves glittering as they rush. Wind sweeps over him, warm and summer light, and he tilts his face up and back, towards the sun. Everything here feels… simple, calm, good.

Jared's stretched out on the deck, long, lean body glistening in the sun, hands cupped behind his head, chin tilted back, eyes closed.

Jensen watches the water to see how the wind ripples over it, adjusting the lines here and there, taking them south towards the lagoon. The island is gorgeous, even from a distance; lush green hills and deep blue waters set against full, fluffy clouds in a clear sky. The weather is _perfect_ , and the air so clear that Jensen can see every individual palm rising to the island's apex. Perfect A-frame waves break over the reef to the port and starboard, and he follows the reef line without encountering a single surfer or swimmer. Jensen anchors them well into the fringe reef, and Jared sits up looking down into the water with awe.

"Jensen." Jared is as excited as a little kid, practically vibrating as he leaps from the deck. "The fish. Oh my God. Did you _see_ the fish?"

There's nothing else in the world that makes Jensen smile like seeing Jared this way. "No. But we're about to."

Jensen only ever learned the basics of diving, but snorkeling is something anyone can do. 

Flippers and masks and then they're over the side of the boat, immersed in clear, aquamarine water.

A school of unicorn fish shies away from them as they land, shooting by in streaks of pure white, delicate horns protruding from their foreheads. Jared reaches through the water, grabs Jensen's hand with one of his and points with the other, as if to ask _did you **see**_?

Jensen nods and kicks his feet, grinning around the mouthpiece of his snorkel as he pulls Jared along.

There are fish everywhere, in every imaginable color. Just ahead of them, there's a school of butterfly fish, square bodies in brilliant yellow and sky blue, three wide black stripes sectioning their bodies from spine to belly. Then there are rasse in brilliant hues of red and blue and yellow, and travellies less resplendent. Jared and Jensen swim along the coral edge, rife with puffer fish and oysters, dipping along the edge of a curve where they see a school of moorish idols, black yellow and white, built like angel fish. Jared clenches his hand, stops when a moray eel uncoils from a shadow in the coral, snatches up a moorish idol between its sharp teeth. Jared looks to Jensen, and Jensen shakes his head. The eel already has what it wants, and they don't travel in schools. It slides by beneath ten feet beneath them, prize clenched in its jaws.

Bubbles stream in tiny rivulets as they swim hand in hand, leisurely along the water's surface. Once, between two schools of rainbow colored fish that swim by below them, they catch sight of a sting ray rippling along the sandy bottom. They've been swimming for about forty-five minutes when they see a group of gray reef sharks. Jared's fingers practically crush Jensen's bones, and Jensen shakes his head, tugs Jared back into an alcove of the coral they can watch over. One sleek body pulls away from the group, like steel cutting through the water, swimming straight for them, and Jensen's stomach flips over once. It's just curious, he knows. And here, bodies backed into the coral, they're no threat to it. But it's a fucking _shark_.

The reef shark swims up to them, body relaxed, no "S" shape to indicate that it feels threatened. Jensen stares directly into its inky black eyes, pushes his body forward in front of Jared's. The shark bumps its nose against Jensen's shoulder and then turns away in a flash, tail flicking out in a burst of silver bubbles.

He looks at Jared as if to say _See? No problem_ , but Jared looks shaken.

Jensen studied every bit of wildlife in these reefs, in the lagoon, the sea. He knows what to expect. But Jared doesn't.

He turns, moves through the water with a brief motion of his hands, feels Jared's body against his, slick and present, warm. He slides his fingers to the groove of Jared's hips and tugs them both above the surface.

He yanks the mouth piece out, peels the goggles from his face. _It's just what they do_ , Jensen wants to say. _As long as we're not threatening them, it's okay._ But one look at Jared's face kills the thought, makes him to press his mouth against Jared's, instead.

"You want to walk back to the boat?" Jensen breathes.

"I want," Jared nods.

Halfway back to the boat, feet skimming the gentle, breaking water down the shoreline of the beach, they spot a school of wild dolphins on the sea, graceful bodies arcing, glistening in the sun as they leap against the clear backdrop of sky.

Jared stops, sitting down hard on the sand. "I've never…"

Jensen smiles, sits down in the sand beside Jared. "Me neither."

"It's amazing."

Jensen squints against the sun, watching the dolphins disappear slowly into the distance. There's a joy to their bodies as they glide, a certain something that makes his heart almost skip a beat. 

Jensen wraps an arm around Jared's shoulder, and Jared tilts his head in, temple resting against Jensen's.

*

Jared lets out a low whistle as he comes up from below deck, a bottle of liquor in each hand. "You gotta see this bar."

Jensen's already seen it, of course, but he follows Jared indulgently below deck. The travel agent assured Jensen that everything would be fully stocked and ready for them when they arrived—food, drinks, towels, snorkeling equipment—extending as far as a full bar with fresh lemons and limes in the refrigerator. Every single bottle that sits behind the curved, polished bar is top shelf, glittering against the mirrors in the background.

"Tequila?" Jared asks, holding up a bottle of Patrón. 

Jensen doesn't drink much besides wine. He never drinks to get drunk. Drunk people are sloppy. They have a high potential for making mistakes. Like randomly calling their best friend and asking them questions they really, _really_ shouldn't. 

"Come on," Jared coaxes, nudging his cheek into Jensen's. "We're on vacation." Jared leans in, kisses him, and he smells like beach and sand.

Jensen kisses him back, hand closing around the neck of the bottle, tugging it away. "Take off all your clothes and get on the bar."

"Yes _sir_ ," Jared whispers fervently, lips closing over Jensen's one last time before he pulls away.

Jared pulls his shorts down over his hips, slow and sensual, one inch bared at a time until he reaches his thighs, slides them to his feet. 

Always tempting Jensen, so tempting. Jared makes him want to lose control without even trying. Jensen turns his eyes away, walks to one of the kitchen counters, picks up the sugar shaker and unscrews the lid.

"Sugar?" Jared asks.

"Tequila of this quality is always best with sugar." Jensen dips his fingers into the sugar, pulls a pinch of grains between and lets them fall along the line of Jared's collarbone, nestling in the hollow. “Besides, salt stings the more… tender areas.”

Jared shudders, beautiful and spread out beneath him. Eager. He's always so eager. So eager that Jensen thinks Jared should have to wait. Besides... he needs a lime… and a cutting board, and a knife.

Jensen takes his time finding the cutting board and setting it between Jared's legs. Scrape of wood over skin, slow and calculated as the time he takes to set the round lime on top of it, knuckles brushing sensitive skin. He takes the knife in hand, dances the tip in a line down the inside of Jared's thigh.

Jared stiffens and stills, gasping in a breath, and Jensen can _see_ Jared’s cock twitch. He’s only done this once before, when they were checking it off the list, and he’d almost forgotten how much Jared enjoyed it. Jensen draws the line down past Jared’s knee to his calf, slowly pulls it up the other side, up the inside of Jared’s thigh to the crease of his hip. His muscled body pulled taut into knots, breathing broken, resisting every urge to move, arc into the touch of the knife. Jensen is the one with the blade, but Jared is controlling himself completely.

He rolls the handle between his fingers, tip denting Jared’s skin as it turns. Jared trembles under the touch, gasps out a sound. Jensen slices the lime slowly into perfect eighths, smiles when Jared sighs. 

There’s an art to everything; even this. You just have to know how to find it.

He sets the knife on the kitchen counter, out of the way, moves behind the bar and pulls out two shot glasses. He fills both, clear liquid swirling in the glasses. He shoots one and it’s smooth, so smooth it hardly even burns or needs a chaser. Fingertips gliding down Jared’s belly, between his thighs, grasping a wedge of lime between his fingers. Bringing it to his lips, he bites, sucks, leans, licking a slow stripe across the line of Jared’s collarbone, sugar swirling into his mouth. It’s sweet like candy—Jared, lime, sea salt, sweat and sugar—Jared’s body twisting under him.

He nips against the bone, suckles, feels Jared moan, vibration of his chest reverberating in Jensen’s mouth. Jensen smiles, kisses his way along the line to Jared’s shoulder, reaches under the bar and pulls out another glass.

He pours sugar into this one, squeezes a lime on top of it and swirls the mixture inside the glass. Picks up the shot glass with tequila in his other hand and pours it into his mouth, holding it there as he leans to kiss Jared. Jared’s mouth opens, hot, hungry, and Jensen feeds the tequila to him, one push of tongue between lips at a time. When Jared swallows it all, he pulls back just enough to pour the glass with sugar and lime into Jared’s mouth then kisses him, tongues gliding around the liquid.

He dots sugar over each of Jared’s nipples, down the line between Jared’s perfect abs, up the center vein of his rock hard cock. Takes his time while Jared twitches, shuddering and moaning at the sensation. It’s so light, sugar falling against skin, just enough to tease. Jensen does another shot, bites the lime and sucks the tender bud of Jared’s nipple between his lips, sugar melting against his tongue. Closes his teeth around the hardened tip and tugs, still sucking as he pulls free.

“Jesus fuck, Jensen.” Jared’s eyes are shut tight, whole body coiled, and he’s so ready, so on edge. 

Jensen pours himself another shot and slides his hand down between Jared’s thighs for another slice of lime, fingertips skating the edge of Jared’s cock. Jared groans, writhing into the touch, but Jensen veers away, down the inside crease of Jared’s thigh, catches the lime between his fingers, draws it up the length of Jared’s body, slow, wet, glistening trail left behind. Outlining his breastbone, riding the line of his pulse to his chin, his mouth, lime pushed between Jared’s lips. He tosses back the shot, leans down and suckles the lime in Jared’s mouth. Turns his head and swipes the point of his tongue down the musculature of Jared’s stomach, chasing every bit of sugar between the cut.

Jensen sucks the lime free from Jared’s mouth after the next shot, tugs it from his own mouth and licks straight up the line of Jared’s cock, tongue slick and swirling sugar all over needing skin. Salt and heat beneath the sweetness, Jared arching, straining, wanting. 

He takes Jared’s cock between his fingers and lifts it, pouring sugar onto the head. He watches it hit the liquid of precome, crystallize for an instant before it melts.

Jensen takes the next shot, sucks sugar from the head of Jared’s cock, tonguing against the underside, lips molding to the shape. Jared seizes, hips twitching. _Fuck, Jensen. Jesus fucking fuck, oh my God_. Jensen knows Jared wants to push, shove his cock deep into Jensen’s throat, knows Jared won’t. He teases the underside, tracing patterns as he sucks away every taste; precome, sugar and musk, tongue dipping into the slit.

Jared gasps when he pulls off, body arcing, begging for more. Jensen pours another shot and sets the full glass on Jared’s stomach.

“Don’t move.” 

Jared holds perfectly still, and Jensen pulls his hand away, leaves the glass balanced on his stomach.

Jared tenses his abs, breathes carefully, shot glass rising and falling in time, liquid tilting inside, but it doesn’t fall. 

Jensen nods approval, turns away and goes above deck. The great thing about high quality tequila is the kind of drunk it gives you; lucid, more mental, warm and mellow. Jensen’s drunk, but he’s not sloppy in the slightest. It only takes him a minute to get the bag he wants, and Jared’s still laying there, gloriously naked against the polished wood of the bar, shot glass still sitting upright on his belly. Jensen opens the bag and slides out the lube, slicks his fingers, glides one down between Jared’s legs, circling the hole.

“Spill it and you don’t get to come,” Jensen says, tip of his finger sliding inside.

“I can’t… can’t… God, fuck.”

“Yes you can.” Jensen leans in, bites the thin skin of Jared’s neck, pulse fluttering against his tongue. God, Jared’s so hot and fucking _tight_ , finger sliding all the way inside. He grazes the tip against Jared’s prostate, and Jared makes a sound that sends blood rushing straight to Jensen’s cock. Jared’s whole body is tensed, focusing on keeping the shot glass from falling, and Jensen pushes another finger in, feels Jared flex around his fingers, moan shivering out through his mouth.

“Fucking _Christ_ ,” Jared hisses, sounding broken, desperate, but he doesn’t move. 

Jensen works his fingers inside Jared’s body, watches Jared shake with tension, thumb stroking the curved round of Jared’s balls. He rubs around the rim with a third finger, teasing light touches before he finally pushes it in. Jared grunts, body glistening with sweat, eyes pleading silently with Jensen.

“God, so hot, fucking you like this when you can’t even react.” Jensen reaches out with his other hand, pinches Jared’s nipples one at a time, back and forth while he fucks him steadily, twisting his knuckles, sliding in and out until Jared’s practically mewling.

Jensen reaches for the shot glass, takes it between two fingers and feeds it to Jared. Sprinkles sugar on the wedge of lime and fucks Jared’s mouth with it, slow drag in and out, fingers flexing, scissoring inside Jared. Jared sucks, moaning eagerly, hips pushing into Jensen’s fingers.

Jensen immediately puts a hand on his stomach to hold him down. “Don’t move until I tell you you can.” Jared goes obediently still, violent shiver running through him. “Pull your legs up, spread open for me.” 

Jensen finds what he wants inside the bag. Wide and long, more of a plug than a cock shape at the base, gently curved and made of smooth rubber, cord extending from the bottom that ends in a series of two rings. Jensen presses the tip against Jared’s body, watches the pink rim spread, pulling tight around the width. Jensen made sure to buy one of the largest sizes they had, he wanted it to be a lot more than Jared’s used to taking. He hadn’t planned on using it for doing shots, but it’s going to work out beautifully. He turns it back and forth between his fingers, pushes it in slow.

Jared is straining, breathing like he’s suffocating. “Fuck, Jensen. Oh my fucking God.”

“So big, isn’t it?” Jensen asks in a whisper. “Gonna fill you up, make you take the whole, huge thing, Jared.”

Jared gasps, whimpering as the rounded end pops inside his body, base still wide enough to keep the rim stretched open. “Look at that. Took the whole fucking thing like a greedy little slut, didn’t you?” Jensen takes the cord that extends from the side of the base, lifts Jared’s cock. He rolls the rubber circle on slow, watching every twitch of Jared’s muscles until it sits against the base, flush against Jared’s belly. He rolls the second, slightly smaller ring on and watches it snap snug just under the crown.

“Legs down,” Jensen says, and flips the switch on the remote. Jared’s whole body jolts with surprise and he cries out. Jensen knows its rubbing against Jared’s prostate, it was made to do that, and the rings around his cock are vibrating, too. .Jensen picks a pattern of sharp bursts on the vibrator, ratcheting up from barely moving to fast and high in slow, building succession until the pattern starts over again from the beginning. 

Jensen pours another shot and balances it on Jared’s stomach. He knows Jared’s inner muscles are spread tight and wide, squeezing around the toy inside him as he tries to keep his stomach taut. Jensen knows all the tension in Jared’s stomach is making his cock flush with even more blood, breathing limited to shallow breaths, all of it intensifying the feeling of the toy vibrating inside him. Jared’s just barely managing to hold it all together, shot glass tilting liquid inside it. 

Jensen understands the feeling, but still. This is the game they’re playing right now.

“Spill it and I’ll fuck you until I’m done with you and then tie your ass down to the bar, leave you here like that for hours, desperate to come.” 

Jared lets out a sound that’s almost a sob, but Jensen knows tortured pleasure when he hears it. Jared’s not in pain. 

“You wanted to do shots, Jared,” Jensen breathes against Jared’s mouth, bites Jared’s lower lip between his and twists. “The way it works is this; the tighter you squeeze your ass around that toy, the faster the rings around your cock are going to vibrate, which is going to make you want to come. Don’t.”

“Jensen,” Jared moans. His mouth is feverishly swollen, eyes full of need, hands fisted at his side. “I can’t… I fucking _can’t_.”

Jensen sucks one of Jared’s nipples into his mouth, tweaks and pulls the other one with his fingers. He can hear Jared’s heart speeding up, feel the thrumming tension in Jared’s muscles holding him stiff, the quickening of his breath. Jensen waits until Jared’s riding the edge of coming, whole body quivering, and then he pulls free, picks up the shot glass and feeds it to Jared. He lets Jared relax while Jensen pushes the lime wedge into his mouth, lets Jared suck on his fingers, too. Jensen repeats the whole process, then, twice, three times, and by the fourth shot Jared is crying, begging, pleading. 

“Shh,” Jensen says, pushing the lime between Jared’s lips. “So good, Jared. Such a good boy. All the things you let me do to you, the way you want them.” Jensen sets the lime aside, runs a gentle thumb over the shape of Jared’s mouth. Then he reaches down, traces the rings around Jared’s cock, vibration low, muscles in Jared’s stomach relaxed. Jared’s so worked up that when Jensen brushes the pad of his thumb over the slick head, Jared’s whole body shudders, and he almost comes right there. “So ready. On the edge of coming for so long. Love it when you need it like this Jared.” Everything in Jared is pure _want_ , eyes bright, skin flushed, body slick with sweat, teeth cutting a deep line into that pretty, swollen lower lip.

Jensen moves lower, puts one hand palm flat on Jared’s belly, fingers sliding under his cock, flicks up the speed on the remote, feels the strength of the vibrations under Jared’s skin, and Jared’s hips leap from the bar. He puts his other hand on the base of the toy. “Squeeze it. I wanna feel you clench down on it.” Jared’s stomach muscles go rock hard under his hand and he can feel the toy tug a little deeper inside Jared’s body. Jared’s choking back a cry, holding his breath, and Jensen knows he’s trying not to come even though the rings around his cock are humming high and fast, sweet, full pressure inside his ass. Jensen pushes down with his palm a little harder, leans some weight behind it and pulls down on the base of the toy, tilting the top end at a better angle against Jared’s prostate, push from his other hand increasing the pressure everywhere.

“Oh my motherfucking God, Jensen,” Jared’s voice cracks over the words, whole body seizing when Jensen bends, takes the head of Jared’s cock between his lips and sucks a tight seal around it. “Jesus motherfucking Christ, _please_.” Jared’s whole torso bucks helplessly, muscles clenched, trying desperately not to come. Jensen pulls back, blows a cool breath across the wet crown. He could do this all night, he really could, but he’s pushed Jared for a pretty long time already. 

“Come,” Jensen tells him.

Jared comes, crying out, whole body arching up off the bar, before Jensen shoves him back down. Fingers white-knuckled, holding the edges of the bar in a death grip, he squeezes his eyes shut, back of his head smacking down hard against the bar before it thrashes violently back and forth. Veins standing out like roadmaps of skin, face blood-red with strain and Christ, Jared’s not even _breathing_ , he’s coming so hard. Jensen watches Jared come apart, feels Jared’s stomach convulse and seize, again and again, cock spurting thick streaks of white all over his belly, vibrations and pressure never ceasing, making everything more intense. It takes minutes for Jared to stop shuddering, and Jensen leaves the toy on, watches Jared’s cock twitch with pleasure and aftershocks for several long minutes. 

Jensen runs his thumb in small circles over the slit, skin wet and sticky with Jared’s come, watches the last shivers fade out.

Jared’s limp, exhausted, when Jensen turns off the toy. Jared hisses as Jensen pulls it slowly from his body. Jensen rubs his hand through the slick on Jared’s belly. “Can’t fucking wait to feel how spread open you are.” He slides in three fingers and Jared barely even moves. Jared’s still hot inside, but not nearly as tight, even though the muscles are pressing against Jensen’s fingers. Between the width of the toy and how relaxed Jared is right now, Jensen could probably… He slides in a fourth finger and it goes in like sinking into butter. “Jesus fucking Christ, Jared,” he moans, eyes fluttering shut. God that’s so fucking hot. Jensen’s cock aches, rock hard. “Taking four fingers like nothing. I could probably get my whole fucking hand inside you.”

Jared moans, spreads his legs a little wider. 

“Such a fucking slut for me, Jared.” Jensen breath catches in his throat, words whispered out rough and gritty. “Want it, don’t you?”

“Yes sir,” Jared breathes, and that’s it. Jensen can’t wait another fucking second.

He slips his fingers out, yanks Jared down the bar by his ankles, presses his legs up and in, folding them until his thighs touch his chest, ass resting on the edge. 

Jensen pulls a high backed bar stool to the end of the bar and sits while he slicks his hand quickly, aligns his fingers into a straight line bent at the third knuckle, the pad of his thumb between his middle and ring fingers. It looks like a duck head, and Jensen knows that’s what it’s called, but he hates the ridiculous names people give to things that really should be so much sexier.

His heart is thudding in his chest, and he breathes deep. Jensen lets his forefinger and little finger slide just a bit beneath his middle and ring fingers, making more of a half circle than a straight line, and pushes the tips. They slide in easily past the first knuckle and the second, and Jensen feels like he’s going to bite through his lower lip, watching Jared’s body swallow him all the way to where the third knuckles bend. “Stretched your tight little ass wide open. God, Jared. All the way to the third knuckles, so easy.”

The first and only other time they tried this, Jensen’d gotten to the third knuckles and then Jared had flinched with every millimeter Jensen tried to push. After four flinches, Jensen had abandoned the idea. He really _wanted_ to do it, but not at the risk of seriously hurting Jared. But tonight, Jared is so relaxed and open. 

Slowly, slowly, he edges his knuckles in. God, Jared’s taking the widest part of his whole hand with hardly any resistance and it’s _so_ motherfucking hot. Not even the slightest indication of pain. He’s studied everything about how to do this, knows he knows how, he’s not nervous--but this is something he’s _never done before_. He’s so excited about getting another chance that he can feel his stomach tickling.

It has to be coming so hard coupled with the prep and the tequila that’s got Jared so relaxed. Jensen slides his whole hand inside, Jared gasping as his body takes Jensen to the wrist. “Oh my _God_ , Jensen.”

Jensen’s eyes close, cock twitching against his belly. “Jesus _fuck_ , Jared.” His voice is a shaky whisper.

So tight around his hand, buried in Jared’s ass to the wrist. Jensen flexes his knuckles, feels Jared twist and moan out a sound of pure pleasure.

“Holy fucking shit. Oh God, fuck, so good,” Jared hisses out in a rush. Jensen knows that the incredible amount of pressure being put on the sensitive nerves right now translates into pure ecstasy. 

Jensen slowly draws his fingers into a full fist, feels Jared stretching to accommodate him, hot, wet flex of sleek muscle. Jared’s arching against the bar, toes curling, head thrown back, cock full and hard. Motherfucking Christ, it’s crazy hot, hand opening, closing, turning inside Jared’s body, and Jared’s going nuts, trembling and straining, gasping and sweating and spilling out an endless stream of words. 

“Mmm…” Jensen breathes. “So good, taking my whole hand. Such a good little slut.

“Feels so good, Jensen.” 

Jensen’s starting to sweat, beads forming on his face, his chest. God, he’s so fucking turned on. “Fucking made for this, weren’t you, Jared?” Jensen opens his fist, closes it again, watches Jared writhe on the end of it. “Made for getting fucked every way possible.” Fingers opening, hand turning inside, knuckles hitting different spots inside him. Jared bucks his hips once, and Jensen feels his hand slide even deeper, slipping another inch up his wrist. “Look at you. My whole fucking hand inside you and you still can’t fucking get enough.”

Jensen opens the lube, tips the liquid onto his wrist and sets the bottle aside. He rubs slickness all around his forearm, runs a teasing fingertip along the stretched, red rim of Jared’s ass.

“I don’t think you _ever_ get enough,” Jensen says and pushes his hand in another half an inch.

Jared makes a choked sound, thighs shaking. “Jesus fuck.”

“How much do you think you can take, Jared?” Jensen’s voice is guttural, broken like shards of glass. He leans down, licks a slow stripe up the center of Jared’s dick, wriggles his hand inside another inch and Jared’s eyes fly wide open, body seizing around Jensen in trembling pleasure. Tight fucking muscles clamping down all around him, and Jesus, Jensen’s cock _hurts_ he’s been so hard for so long. He pushes down the urge to do something about it. He’s going to take his time and enjoy this.

“Bet you could take me all the way to the fucking elbow, couldn’t you?” Jensen tongues the bundle of nerves on the underside of Jared’s cock. “I’m tempted to push until I’ve got my arm halfway inside your ass. Jesus, Jared, you’re _such_ a fucking slut,” Jensen growls, nips the inside Jared’s thigh, skin catching between his teeth for an instant as Jensen eases in another half inch. Jared yelps in surprise at the unexpected slight pain and extreme pleasure.

“What do you think, Jared? Is half my forearm enough for you?”

“Oh, my God.” Jared’s eyes are fairly rolling back in his head, and Jensen knows he’s lost in the pleasure. Pressure pleasure is nothing like coming; it stretches out in a steady, neverending wave, not quite as intense as an orgasm, but constant. Delirium inducing. 

“God, so motherfucking full and tight,” Jensen rasps. “Get your hand on your cock, Jared. I wanna watch you come with my fist buried in your sweet little ass.”

Jared’s fingers close around his cock, tremors running through his whole body. “G-god.” The word pushes out from between chattering teeth, like he’s freezing cold, but Jensen can feel him, see him burning up. “Too good. Too much. Can’t…”

“You can,” Jensen whispers. “God, look at you. You can do anything.”

Jared’s hand trembles as he strokes, sounds of pleasure tearing loose from him, thick and guttural. They spike into something beyond ecstasy when Jensen turns his hand, flexes his fingers; a raw, ragged sound like nothing Jensen’s ever heard before. 

“God,” Jensen breathes. He uses his free hand, pulls his cock through the opening in his shorts, gets his slick fist over hot, hard skin and groans. 

Jared’s vibrating, frozen with pleasure, fist locked tight around his dick, body fluttering, squeezing Jensen’s hand, every breath a long, helpless whimper. 

Jensen feels like he can’t breathe. “Come on Jared. Let me see.”

Jared strokes his cock one more time and his whole body shakes like he’s going to explode, jittering against the bar, and Jensen closes his hand into a fist. 

“Oh my—fuck. Jensen, oh my—“

Jared jerks convulsively, thrashing. And then he pushes over and comes, screaming.

Sweet Christing _fuck_. Slick muscles inside Jared’s ass spasm with force that’s almost crushing, cock pulsing, spraying come all over his body. He keeps screaming, body twisting, flailing and stuttering, muscles knotting and releasing, caught in the grip of pleasure so intense and complete. Jensen’s never seen anything fucking _like it_ and he can feel every single _thing_ , every contortion and spasm of ecstasy, because motherfucking _Christ_ , he’s got his whole hand in Jared’s ass up to the middle of his _forearm_ , stretched out rim snugged tight around his arm, flexing and shuddering as Jared’s inner muscles clench.

Jensen opens his fingers to the widest shape he can make, and Jared’s upper body flies up off the bar, hips leaping to follow, spurting come, and he makes such a high, keening, broken noise of extreme pleasure that Jensen’s cock jumps, leaking all over his hand.

“Motherfucking God, _yes_ ,” Jensen growls. God, there couldn’t be _anything_ hotter.

Jensen’s way too close, circles his fingers underneath the head of his dick to hold himself back. Instead, he feels his orgasm rush him, spiking and exploding. It takes him by complete surprise, and he feels crushed by it, shattered into thousands of pieces, hips fucking deeper into his hand, his whole body seizing and shivering, burst after burst of violent pleasure ripped from him. 

He doesn’t realize he’s not breathing until he gasps in a breath like a drowning man, body still quivering with aftershocks, twitching out waves of pleasure like ripples all through him. He hasn’t come without meaning to since he was seventeen, and he hasn’t come that motherfucking _hard_ using his own hand in… ever.

Jared’s still shaking too, grip of orgasm passed. Jensen gets on his feet, wraps his come-slick hand around Jared’s softening cock and strokes him, fingers opening and closing inside him until he’s keening again. Jensen knows how to make Jared come in under thirty seconds, if he ever wanted to make Jared come that fast. Right now, he does. After all, they might never get to do this again, and he wants to wring every last bit of pleasure Jared can get from it, wants to watch it happen.

Jared howls like an animal when he comes, cock sputtering, nothing left to give, but Jared’s cock jerks and pumps anyway, going through the motions. Jensen keeps jerking him off, squeezing and opening his other hand, and Jared keeps coming, convulsing and twitching harder and faster until it becomes locked into one constant squeeze of muscles bearing down around Jensen’s arm. Jared’s face is pinched in a single expression of intense bliss, mouth open and wailing. He’s not moving anymore except for his hands, grasping uselessly against the bar until his body tightens another notch and then he stops making noise all together, still and hard as if he’d been turned to stone. Jensen twitches his fingertips and Jared gasps in a breath, falls back against the bar, whole body bucking and trembling violently, whimpering and senseless.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Jensen mutters. He stands there for a moment in complete awe, sweat rolling down his body. 

He slides his arm out slow, Jared writhing and moaning with every movement until he flattens his fingers into the same position he used going in and pulls free.

He wipes his hand quickly on the bar rag and moves around the bar, running a hand down Jared’s cheek. “You okay?”

Jared mumbles something unintelligible that Jensen’s not entirely sure is English. He kisses Jared gently, whispers in his ear how good he is, how amazing he is, presses a soft series of kisses along Jared’s jaw and tells him he’ll be back in a minute.

He washes up in the sink, cleans his body with a wet rag. Wets another one and then cleans Jared’s body with gentle strokes. By the time he’s done, Jared’s finally coming out of his daze, eyes fluttering open.

“Am I dead?” he asks, voice weak. “Did you finally kill me?”

“Damned near killed _myself_.” Jensen shakes his head. “Jesus _Christ_ , Jared.” Jensen puts a hand on Jared’s face, runs a thumb along his lower lip. “Are you all right?”

“I… I think I saw the face of God.”

Jensen chuckles. “I’d almost believe that.” He pauses, then asks, “Any pain?”

“A little sore,” Jared nods. “Not too bad. Fucking worth it.” He looks so blissed and sexed out that it’s sinful. So fucking gorgeous.

“Good.” Jensen smiles.

“Check that off the list, huh?” Jared asks, smiling back.

“Twice,” Jensen agrees.

“The infamous number twenty-two,” Jared says, raising a fist in victory.

Jensen laughs and bends to kiss him.

*

They stay anchored in the reef overnight, sleep in the pull-out bed on the boat. In the morning they sail back to the house and unpack and have breakfast. They put together lunches, sandwiches and the potato salad Jensen insists on making, put into cold packs. Then Jensen packs plastic ware and plates and napkins, then several apples and a bag of cashews, and Jared finally asks if they’re going on sabbatical through the desert or what. Jensen just smiles, doesn’t answer any of Jared’s questions about where they’re going or what they’re doing.

Fare is the main town on the island, just a little more than a mile’s walk up the main road. It’s still a small town, brightly colored village homes clustered under the shade of almond and acacia trees. Jared’s eyes light up when they come to the ranch, proud stallions inside vividly green pastures. Margaret is the ranch owner, tiny and spirited, deeply tanned and fully American. The horses she brings them are both male, and Jensen’s happy to find that they have sweet temperaments. That means they’re only as unpredictable as any other horse. That’s simply the inherent risk you take when riding one. 

Jared is fascinated by the horses, and he clearly doesn’t have the first clue how to ride one, but what he lacks in experience he more than makes up for in enthusiasm—like with most things, Jensen thinks, and smiles. By halfway through the day, Jensen’s taught him enough that they can ride alongside each other at a slow gallop, bodies moving in perfect rhythm with the animals underneath them, dirt flying up beneath the horses hooves.

They ride the edge of the island along the coast, down the winding path through the rocks to where the island opens up. Everything here is so vibrant, lush, impossibly green hills, covered with dense, flowering trees and bushes, petals in every shade of red, pink orange and yellow. To their right is stark white beach cut by scatterings of black volcanic rock to the very edge of the deep blue sea. The air is fresh, clear, nothing but the taste of sea salt and the musky smell of horses. 

When they reach a place where the slender palms are set farther apart with grass stretching between them instead of wild bushes, Jensen guides them off the path, weaving through the trees until they find a secluded spot. It’s open and grassy, backing to a sheer rise of volcanic rock that stretches up and away, out of sight. 

After the horses are secured to two palms close together, Jensen opens his pack and snaps a blanket out, smoothing it against the ground.

Jared pounces on it, rolls over on his back and tucks his hands behind his head. “You’re kidding? We’re having a picnic?”

“We have to eat. You want to sit on the grass?” Jensen asks, arching a brow at him.

“Aw. You’re so _romantic_ , honey,” Jared chirps in bright, syrupy tones, grinning.

Jensen leaps on him, hands grabbing Jared’s forearms and holding them to the ground. “Don’t make me have to kick your ass. _Honey_ ,” he grins back.

And then Jared goes all serious on him, face softening. “I meant it. This really is nice.”

Jensen bites down on the inside of his cheek. “I… did want it to be nice.”

“I know.” Jared’s eyes are gentle as he smiles. He’s so damned beautiful. So perfect in every single way.

“I love you.” Jensen puts his hands on Jared’s face and kisses him, edges of the key pressing between their chests, warm patch of sunlight falling across his back, horses whickering softly in the background.

*

They eat sitting side by side, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. After, Jared lies on the blanket weaving a crown of vanilla flowers together and Jensen cuts the apples into slices with the knife from his pack. When Jared’s done, he sits up and settles the crown on Jensen’s head, adjusting it carefully until he’s got it just right. Jensen pauses in cutting through the apple, and just looks at Jared until Jared finally laughs.

“I crown thee King of romantic delights.”

“Misquoting William Cowper is _not_ winning you any more points,” Jensen tells him, mouth quirking.

“See! You even know poetry. God, Jensen.” Jared teases, shakes his head like it’s a tragedy. “You’re such a sap.”

“I just happen to have a very good memory for everything I’ve ever learned. Including Cowper.”

“It’s part of what I love about you, you know,” Jared insists. 

“I am _not_ a sap. I’m a scientist.”

“You can’t be both?”

“Not legally,” Jensen smirks.

“Well.” Jared winds an arm around Jensen’s neck and sighs like he’s terribly put upon. “I love you, anyway.”

“I know you do.” Jensen ghosts his lips over Jared’s, thumb brushing Jared’s cheek. 

They pack up the trash, leftovers and the blanket, and then Jensen divides up the apple slices, putting half of them into Jared’s hands. They feed them to the horses together, hands stroking their muzzles. 

They ride north for another hour, stopping when they find a tide pool on the beach to investigate the tiny ecosystem inside it. It’s filled with speckled sea stars in hues of red, purple and blue, sea anemone in aquamarine and emerald green, translucent tiny tentacles drifting lazily in the clear water. The sandy bottom is scattered with broken shards of seashells and rocks in every color, and the effect is almost dizzying. Jared’s been snapping photos of everything since they got here, but he takes his time getting shots of this.

The late afternoon ride back to the ranch is peaceful, perfectly tranquil, horses trotting easily side by side. The sun is beginning to set as they draw near, sky lit with gorgeous gold and orange against deep blue. It’s magnificent, the way it reflects off the clouds, and they pause for Jared to take pictures of it. 

They drop the horses with Margaret and walk back to the beach house hand in hand. They make dinner, and after, they have slow, lazy sex on the couch, Jared riding Jensen’s cock at a slow gallop like the horses they’d ridden earlier today.

The evening is spent lying side by side on the beach talking about the stars, creation and evolution, until the sound of drums reaches them from further down the beach. Jensen helps Jared up from the sand and they walk the shoreline together to find a small group of natives gathered around a campfire, some of them making music, others dancing. The natives smile at them, warm and open, and Jensen wraps his arms around Jared’s waist, pulls him in, chest to chest, hip to hip. They dance at the edge of the circle of firelight, hips swaying in time, feet leaving behind patterns in the sand.

It’s a good day. Another _perfect_ day.

They unpack from the day’s adventures before bed, and Jensen lingers thoughtfully over his pack, fingers brushing against the petals of vanilla flowers woven into a circle.

 

*

 

On the third day, they go parasailing and visit the aquarium, marvel at the myriad of aquatic life and feed the sting rays. The fourth day, they go scuba diving with a trainer and see a giant sea turtle, finishing out the evening with an exquisite dinner at Fare’s five star hotel restaurant.

On the fifth day, Jensen wakes up with Jared’s mouth wrapped around his cock, sucking slow and deep. Jensen slides his hands into Jared’s hair and closes them in light fists, fucking his mouth with languorous thrusts of hips, body still deliciously suffused with sleep. He surges, on the verge of coming when he pulls out. Jensen rolls them both over, Jared beneath him, hips pushing into each other with slow thrusts as they kiss, cocks gliding, rubbing together until they both come.

They’re supposed to go sailing after breakfast, but when they get to the beach, Jared can’t resist pulling Jensen into the water for an early morning swim. Jared is beautiful, skin already getting dark from the island sun, droplets of water clinging to his body, catching the light, refracting. “I miss your glasses,” Jared tells him, meeting his mouth with warm, salty lips. Jensen counts, thinks that’s the tenth time Jared’s said that since they’ve been here. Sometimes, Jensen misses them, too, but contacts just make more sense given their activities. 

Jensen’s had enough of swimming before Jared’s through, and he’s standing on the beach watching Jared swim to shore, just about to reach for his towel when Jared suddenly cries out in pain.

Jensen runs back into the water and dives, swimming to Jared with rapid strokes.

“Just a jellyfish sting,” Jared says, wincing. “Hurts like a motherfucker though.”

There aren’t any deadly jellyfish in these waters. The tension in Jensen’s chest eases. “Where?”

“My ankle.” 

“We have to treat it right away if want you to be able to walk on it.” He knows that much. “The toxins aren’t deadly, but they’re still poisonous.”

They swim to shore together, and Jensen inspects Jared’s ankle briefly before he scoops his things from the ground in one armful, pushes them into his pack. At the house, he takes five minutes checking three websites to make sure he’s got the correct method of treatment before they start. An hour later, Jared smells like vinegar and there’s a shaved patch in his leg hair just above the ankle, but after he takes two ibuprofen, he seems to feel good as new.

“My hero,” Jared says, wiggling the toes of his injured foot.

“Can’t take you anywhere,” Jensen pretends to mourn, shaking his head.

“Guess it’s a good thing I’ve got you around to take care of me.” Jared smiles and Jensen just… loves him to the point of stupidity and back.

“Are you still having a good time?”

“The best ever,” Jared grins, and Jensen can’t help smiling back.

There is something about this place. He feels closer, even more connected to Jared here without anything to distract them. Maybe Chris was right. Maybe all they needed was a vacation.

Jared kisses him once, slow and sweet. "Gotta shower," he whispers, slipping from Jensen's arms.

Jensen understands. Thinks he's going to join Jared, because as gorgeous as the beach might be, the sand in his clothes is an uninvited guest. 

He strips out of his shorts as Jared starts the water in the bathroom. Thinks of all the things he's going to do to Jared in the shower, long before they ever get to the bed.

Jensen lifts his hands… and he _knows_ , knows, even as he's reaching for his chest. Understanding strikes him like a bolt of lightning, leaving him frozen in place.

The… key. It's gone.

No no no no no no. It isn't. It _can't_ be. Jensen doesn't lose _anything_. He _never_ loses anything. It's here. It _has_ to be _here_.

He yanks his shorts back on, traces his every step from doorway around the house, finding nothing. He does it twice, three times. Then he checks everywhere else in the room. 

No no no no no no no no.

In the end, he turns the house upside down and inside out, water falling in the bathroom like a driving rhythm.

And then he remembers. Taking it off before they swam out into the ocean, letting it coil into one of his empty sandals, set carefully on top of his folded shirt and towel.

On the beach. It must be on the beach.

He retraces every footstep through the sand, foot sinking into every print, eyes roving back and forth across the path, the sand of the beach. All the way down to the sea's edge.

Nothing. It's _gone_.

Jensen doesn't panic. He's a firm believer in not panicking. At least… not until you've exhausted every avenue trying to find an answer. And even then, panic is useless. What is; is. It can't be changed.

So he doesn't panic. Not at all. Not even a little bit. 

And if his heart's beating a mile a minute, it's just because he's been rushing around. If the vision of the shoreline blurs in his eyes, it's only because he's got salt water in them.

He doesn't panic.

*

Jared eventually finds him sitting at the edge of the sand, water rushing in to fill the spaces between his toes.

"Dude, I thought somebody kidnapped you," Jared says, sitting down next to him. "What happened to the house?"

Jensen stares out over the water, squinting against the afternoon sun, nothing but the sound of waves between them.

"Hey," Jared nudges Jensen's shoulder. "You okay?"

The words feel trapped in Jensen's throat, sealed tight. He's angry. God, he's angrier than he's been in years. He's angry at the _world_ , feels tricked, betrayed. But most of all, he's angry at _himself_. There's part of him that's a little in awe of how powerful the feeling is, and that same part is just as awed by the ache gnawing at his heart.

"Jared… I lost the key."

Jared turns his head, Jensen can see it from the corner of his eye, _feel_ the look Jared's giving him.

"I think… it happened on the beach." He licks his lips. "I haven't lost _anything_ in thirteen years. You know how careful I am."

"I know," Jared nods, but Jared's not looking at him anymore; staring off somewhere into the horizon. He's silent for a long time, sand sifting through absently through his fingers, and the silence burns Jensen like few other things could.

"It's… okay," Jared finally breathes. 

Jensen knows it's okay. He knows Jared understands. Logically, he _knows_ this. It was an accident, a moment of carelessness. It happens to everyone.

But he isn't everyone. And that wasn't just any _thing_.

Jared takes a deep shuddering breath, tilts his head back, sunlight catching on the line of his throat. "We'll… just get another lock put into the collar, have another key made." Jared is disappointed. Hurt. He's not upset with Jensen, but he _is_ upset. Jensen can read loss in every angle of his body. 

Jensen clenches his hands into fists, nails worrying at his palms. He feels like an utter failure—it's not a feeling he's used to, something he left behind him a long time ago. But sitting here in this moment with Jared, sand under their skin, waves lapping at their feet, he realizes it's been there all along, waiting for the right moment to pop like a bubble to the surface.

Some things never change.

_"God didn't make you strong enough, Jensen."_

_"God didn't make me."_

_"Oh, Jensen, tsk." Her fingers are tiny, delicate, but so strong against his jaw, fingertips pressing in tight. Eyes indulgent, still scornful as she looks him over. "It's not much to work with, but we'll just have to do our best to craft you in His image, won't we?"_

"Hey," Jared breathes, leaning in, mouth close and warm. "We'll fix it. We'll make it right."

"Yeah," Jensen nods and kisses him back.

*

Jensen doesn't stop looking for it. Jared just watches him, doesn't say anything, doesn't move to help. Jared's been with him long enough to know his moods; knows when Jensen needs to do something on his own, make sure of something himself. He puts the house back together in painfully neat order, one item at a time, inspecting everything thoroughly before returning it to its place. 

When he's done, the sun is going down; orange light dancing on the water, long shadows streaking the ground. Jensen digs through the sand until his knuckles are red, raw and aching. He's flexing his fingers for another round when Jared finally kneels down, takes Jensen's hands in his. Jared runs his thumbs over Jensen's fingers gently, looks into Jensen's eyes.

"Jensen. It's gone. Let it go." Jared lets go of his hands, wraps his arms around Jensen. Jensen lets Jared pulls him in, body stiff in Jared's arms. "It hurts me, too… but it hurts me more to see you like this."

_Dammit._

"It's just a key," Jared breathes, squeezing him tight.

Jensen bites down hard on his lower lip. Jared's right. It's just a key. He _knows_ that. It's a material object. Platinum cast into a mold by someone he doesn't even know. It's simple mass taking up volume, atoms, metallically bonded; protons, electrons, neutrons.

It's just a key.

He never expected to feel so lost without it.

*

Jensen is digging. His knuckles are bloody, eyes intent as sand flies. Fingers into fine grit, and he doesn't stop, not even when he digs too deep, stone scraping against bone.

"So fuckin' melodramatic, dude. Why don't you just dream simple shit? Stand in the middle of the street and scream "Stella" or something?"

Chad's standing on the surface of the sea, arms folded over his chest. He's wearing a fur-lined green robe and a tiara on his head, icicles rising up into tiers. There's a wand clutched in one of his hands, silver with a glowing star set at the end.

"Seriously, Ackles," Chad says, disgusted. "Could you _please_ stop bringing me into your dreams? This shit is disturbing."

"I really agree," Jensen nods.

"I mean, _look_ at this." Chad grabs at one fur lined edge of his robe, walking to the shore. "I'm like fucking Hugh Hefner with fur and no chicks. I better be getting paid extra for this shit."

"I'll talk to your agent," Jensen says absently, tattered ends of bony fingers digging around the shape of a rock.

"You're more like Blanche and Stanley all rolled into fuckin' one. You _know_ that's your problem."

"I never saw _A Streetcar Named Desire_."

"Then how do you know what I'm talking about?"

Jensen stops, lifts his head. "I…" 

Chad closes a hand on his shoulder. "Time to get your head out of the sand."

//flash//

Jensen's lying down on his bed, text book spread out in front him. Equations and formulas dance on the pages before him, teasing at something vital.

Jared's sitting on the edge of the bed.

"You've been here forever," Jared says, plaintive.

"I've almost got it," Jensen says. "It's here…"

"It _is_ here," Jared says, fingers crawling up his chest, touching his heart.

Jensen sees it, but he _doesn't_ , not really, because he's looking at the book. There's something trapped in the text… if he could just…

When he looks up, Jared is gone and the room is cold, empty.

"Jared?"

He's wandering through the hallways of the house. They're longer than he remembers, darker. His book is still with him, clutched under one arm. Chad walks at his side, carrying a torch.

"Why don't I have one of those?" Jensen asks.

"Here, dude. A present. From me to you."

Chad hands him the torch. 

Jensen turns it over in his hand, holds it up against the darkness to look, realizes he's wearing Chad's crown of icicles, too. 

"You're the new colossus, baby. Fuckin' Libertas."

"No," Jensen breathes. He's terrified, shoving the torch back at Chad, book falling from under his arm. 

"Oh, and now you're fuckin' Charlton Heston? Dude--"

Jensen wakes, breathing hard as he sits up. Jared's curled into a tight ball on the other side of the bed, sheets thrown back from their bodies, coiled like a shed snakeskin at the end of the bed.

Jensen pushes to the edge of the mattress, grabs his phone from the night stand, luminescent glow making him squint as he flips it open. He presses his finger to the 'Contacts' button, two seconds from pushing call and issuing Chad a formal cease and desist when reality catches up.

"Jesus," he breathes, throwing down the phone and falling back on the bed. He rubs his hands over his eyes and steadies himself. 

Just a dream. Just a dream.

_Libertas._

He turns, curving his body into the warmth of Jared's; spine to stomach, one arm wrapped around Jared's chest.

Sleep takes a long time coming back.

*

It's dawn when Jensen wakes again and slips out from between the covers. He dresses quietly and lets himself out through the front door, easing it shut behind him. He makes a sweep of the coconut trees surrounding the path, covering every inch of sand to the beach. It has to be here somewhere. He won't even allow himself to think that the sea might have swept in and claimed it.

He digs again, sifting sand with a spade this time, sun slowly rising on the horizon. He becomes distantly aware of someone approaching him on the beach and pauses, glancing up. It's an old Tahitian man, face cut with fine lines of age, somewhere around fifty, body still thin and fit. He's wearing nothing except a long, baggy pair of white beach pants, tattoos covering his chest muscles, his shoulders.

"Ia orana oe," the man greets, raising his brows as he kneels down in front of Jensen. "I would ask how you are, hoa, but I think this story speaks for itself." When Jensen doesn't answer, the man goes on as if he had. 

"This is the second time I've seen you digging here. What are you looking for?" he asks.

Jensen sighs, resting back on his heels. Normally he'd find this invasive, but the Tahitians welcome everyone like family, treat everyone like they've known them forever, and Jensen's… not feeling quite himself today. And there's a _chance_ this man has seen the key somewhere if he's seen Jensen on the beach before. 

He swallows hard, forces out the words. "I… lost… something."

"What is this thing?" the man asks. His dark eyes are intent, intelligent and interested. 

"It's a key."

"A key," the man nods, looking at the upturned sand. "Why is it so important?" 

Jensen's silent, starts to shake his head and rise from the sand. The old man touches his hand gently, inclining his chin towards the marks on Jensen's knuckles. "It must be _very_ important," he says, looking back to Jensen's eyes.

"It is." Jensen looks at the dark fingertips touching his hand. He's not used to being touched—especially this gently—by anyone except Jared. It feels… different. Like being suddenly… connected to the old man, somehow. It throws him a little, mind turning over the feeling it evokes in him as he draws his hand back. 

"What does it open?"

Jensen doesn't know how to answer that. Knows he can't tell the literal truth. "Everything," he sighs, shrugging as he throws the spade into the sand blade first.

The man is silent for a moment, eyeing Jensen curiously as he thinks that over. "Why did you put everything in one place and then lock it up?"

Jensen stares at the old man for a few long seconds. "I didn't. That's not…" He shakes his head, at a loss for how to answer. Jensen rubs a hand along his jaw and wants very badly to be left alone. 

"You are very upset," the old man nods. "Come. I will make you breakfast, hoa," he says, patting Jensen's shoulder as he stands. "Tell you stories of our island. You will feel better." 

Jensen opens his mouth to say absolutely _not_ \-- 

"Breakfast?" someone else asks. 

Jensen turns on his heels, sees Jared walking across the beach to them. Jared takes one look at Jensen, the spade stuck in the sand and looks back to the old man. To anyone else, the smile on Jared's face probably looks normal, but Jensen can see the hard edge to it. 

"Yes, for all of us," the old man smiles. "Come." 

"We'd love to," Jared grins back. 

Jensen thinks having breakfast with a complete stranger is the last thing on a very long list of things he _doesn't_ want to do this morning. The very idea unsettles him. But to say so would mean arguing with Jared. 

Jared gives Jensen a pointed look. "Wouldn't we?" 

Jensen sighs. 

* 

 

Hoauni—which is what the old man's name turns out to be—leads them back down the beach south, from the direction he came. He guides them from the sand through wild mango groves to a tiny village of twenty or so homes. Brightly painted houses with dried fronds covering the roofs, fire pit dug in the center of the network, logs guttering in the early dawn light. Three men gather around the glowing coals, hands beating out a slow staccato rhythm on drums.

The house is sparsely furnished, most of the furniture looks like someone's cast-offs that weren't that nice to begin with. In the living room, a rolling drum beat pours from tiny speakers connected to an old tape deck. Two dark-skinned women dressed in loose fitting pants and t-shirts dance side by side, sinuous rhythm of hips and arms, tiny mincing steps with their bare feet. It's a sensual dance, primal, and Jensen recognizes it from his Tahitian research.

"These are my daughters. Herenui and Hereiti. Girls," Hoauni calls, clapping his hands together. "This is Jensen, and this is Jared. They are going to have breakfast with us."

The girls cease their dance, moving closer to where they stand. The oldest daughter—Hereiti—looks to be in her very early twenties. She's pretty, rounded face and huge dark eyes, a full mouth that curves in a smile as she walks up to Jared. She gives a slow look up and down the long length of his body. Jensen knows that look; the sudden warmth in her dark eyes, the spark. He's used to seeing it when people look at Jared.

"Welcome," she says, extending her hand to Jared. When Jared shakes it she doesn't let go, smile growing wider. "Come and sit while father makes breakfast. We will dance for you."

"Hereiti," Hoauni says, shaking his head with an indulgent laugh. "He is already taken," he says, motioning to Jensen.

Hereiti's eyes flash to Jensen with a jumble of emotions; surprise, understanding, the tiniest bit of shame and disappointment. She nods to Jensen respectfully, straightening. "Then come, we'll teach you the dance for your mate," Hereiti says, taking Jared's hand.

Jared quirks a smile, shoots Jensen a look. Jensen nods back, muscles in his shoulders knotting. It’s not that he minds the dancing; it’s the prospect of being left alone in a completely unfamiliar environment with a total stranger. But he forces a smile for Jared.

The girls pull Jared into the room and situate him between them as they flank his sides.

"You must forgive Hereiti.” Hourani laughs. “She has a strong personality. Much fire."

"I understand," Jensen nods, eyes still on Jared.

"Come." Hoauni motions him towards the kitchen. "Sit with me while I make breakfast."

The kitchen is small, but modern and clean, tiny, round dining table pushed to one side. Jensen sits on the edge of one of the chairs, elbows resting on his knees as Hoauni pulls food from the refrigerator. It’s full-sized, but it’s hardly full inside; eggs, milk, miscellaneous plastic packages of meats and cheese. They obviously don’t have much, probably struggle to make ends meet, and yet they’re happy, inviting complete strangers into their home and sharing what they have with them. It doesn’t make much sense to Jensen.

Jensen looks out into the living room; watches the girls arrange Jared's arms, explaining the movements of the dance. The moves they walk him through are similar but slightly different from the ones they were performing—sharper—less hip and more arm. The male version of the same dance. 

“You know this dance?” Hourani asks, watching him.

“The mating dance,” Jensen nods. 

"Yes,” Hoauni laughs. “But they do not dance for mates tonight. They do this for the tourists. Tourists love the dance, our culture. It brings the money. They dance, I farm the mangos. We do what we can. You have to make a living, aita?"

Jensen doesn’t like talking about money. He knows he’s well off, and he knows he’s done some work to stay well off, but it’s nothing compared to the way these people work for their money.

He changes the subject instead. “Where is your wife?”

"Matahina," the old man says reverence in his speech. "With the gods, she is. Where she always belonged."

 _Shit._. "I'm sorry," Jensen says, eyes lowering.

"We live, we die." Hoauni shrugs, knife slicing through the fruit on the cutting board.

Jensen studies the old man curiously. "So you don't… miss her?" 

"Of course I do, hoa. Every day." The old man hesitates, as if considering, and Jensen has to look away. "There are moments when it still makes me sad that she is gone," Hoauni says after a long moment. 

Jensen watches Jared misstep, hip bumping into Herenui. They both laugh, Jared's eyes crinkling. Jared’s so comfortable—everyone else is so _so_ comfortable, here, in this strange, alien situation. Strangers dancing together, talking about dead wives.

“I go on, because that is what living means." Hoauni shakes his head, flipping bacon in the skillet. 

Strangers, talking about the meaning of life. 

“Living means your heart keeps beating. That your lungs keep drawing breath.”

“And everything that happens between,” Haouni says, “is what makes us alive.”

“Is it?” Jensen asks. “Or is that just what we tell ourselves to get through the night?” 

“If it gets us through the night, it gets us through the day.”

Jensen shakes his head. “So if we deceive ourselves, it doesn’t matter, as long as we keep breathing?”

“All that matters is what we do while we are breathing,” Hoauni laughs. “If it weren’t, why would we live?”

“Survival instinct.” Jensen knows this. “We’re programmed to live. To survive and keep living. All animals are.”

“Survival instinct is the smallest part of what we are. It’s the need to adapt, to survive and procreate and generate the species.” Hoauni lifts the bacon from the pan on the end of the spatula, sets it on a layer of napkins. “Do you procreate?”

This is also a conversation Jensen’s had before, in a different context. It doesn’t fit here, and he hates the way it sets his teeth on edge. He grinds them together, looks out at Jared. “No.”

“Then what is it that makes you keep breathing?”

There’s no fucking way he’s getting into that with a complete stranger. “My lungs,” Jensen says, watching Jared move.

“You do not make friends easily, Jensen.” 

Jensen glances over. Hoauni’s right. He’s just amazed that the old man _noticed_ and _remarked_. Most people just go away before they get that far.

“No. I don’t.”

“I thought so when we met.” Hoauni nods.

Jensen blinks. Can’t help but ask, “Then why did you invite me here?”

“My mother used to have a saying; the man who does not think he needs friends is the one who needs friends most of all.” Hoauni shrugs. 

It catches him; the offhand way it’s delivered, and he considers it. Really considers it. It could be trite… or it could be profound. Jensen's still not sure when Hoauni claps him on the back.

"Let us speak of happier things."

*

Hoauni tells them stories about the island while they eat, legends, stories about tourists, and by the end of it all, even Jensen has to admit he feels a little bit better. Hoauni sends them off at the door.

"If you need anything, you let Hoauni know."

They walk back through the mango groves, Jensen leading slightly ahead of Jared until they reach the white sand of the beach. Jensen squints against the brightness of the sun, and Jared steps up besides him, falls in step. They walk a few paces, hot sand turning up beneath their feet, and Jared reaches over, catches Jensen's hand in his, fingers lacing through.

They lie side by side on the sand under the palms at the edge of the path to the beach house. Jensen feels the grains beneath him; scratching at his skin before they settle, open sky stretching out in front of him, latticework of leaves above his head. It occurs to him that in this moment, he should feel like nothing exists except earth and sky and Jared.

Jared shifts, shoulder settling against Jensen’s. "I was thinking… maybe this'll give us a chance to do another ceremony. You know, make the new key official." Jared's smiling. There's nothing but tenderness in his eyes as Jensen looks; not even a trace of forgiveness, because Jared already decided Jensen's got nothing to be forgiven for.

Jensen wishes he could agree.

He isn’t sure why he opens his mouth, what makes him need to say what he says next.

“Do you remember the night we decided to go on vacation, when I had that weird dream?"

"The one where Chad was an actor?" Jared laughs. "Yeah. No forgetting _that_."

Jensen trails his fingers through the sand. "Isabelle was in that dream, too."

"You hardly ever talk about her," Jared says, softly. 

"I think about her sometimes. But I haven't dreamed about her in years."

"What happened? In your dream?" Jared asks, craning his neck to look at Jensen.

Jensen explains, haltingly, hesitating. It feels awkward, embarrassing, the way describing any dream does.

"You ever think maybe…" Jared's voice trails, and Jensen waits.

"You ever think maybe you switched teams because of her?"

Jensen tilts his head to the side, jaw catching against the sand. "Not the way you mean. I didn't switch _because_ of her, I switched _for_ her. Even if I didn't know that was the truth, then."

"She must have been something really special."

Jensen stares up into the weave of palm leaves, jaw working. "She was an ideal. At sixteen, I thought she was everything I wanted to be."

"It's not who you are."

Jensen pauses, slides his tongue along the inside of his mouth. "You don't think so?"

"No. She never cared about you. Not like you care about me."

Jensen thinks that over. He'd struggled so hard against Jared, not even realizing he'd lost the battle a long time before. "Did you ever think I cared about you, back then?"

"Sometimes," Jared says, smile curling his mouth. "Sometimes… I felt like I saw you… that you let me in. Like you cared about me."

"But not always?"

"No. Mostly I was just confused." Jared rolls over in place on his stomach, thigh and shoulder brushing Jensen's. He lifts his face to look down at Jensen. "But so were you. You're not her. You were never her. And you're not empty inside."

"Sometimes…" Jensen focuses hard on the shapes of sky between layers of green, fingers sifting sand. "Sometimes I feel like I am."

"You're not," Jared whispers, fitting a hand over Jensen's heart. Jensen can feel the grains of sand clinging to his palm, caught between them.

"Jared… you never questioned if you deserved my love, did you?"

"What?" Jared blinks, like he actually has to think about that. But Jensen already knows the answer. 

"You never questioned it. It didn't even occur to you to ask. The question was whether or not I could _see_ that you deserved it."

"Yeah," Jared says slowly, nodding. "I guess that's true. I never really thought about it." His face shifts and he smiles. "But that's just because I'm an arrogant bastard."

"No. It's because you're that amazing. You _do_ deserve love. I…" Jensen takes a deep breath. "Sometimes… I feel like I don't deserve you. That you deserve better than what I give you. "

"Just because Isabelle messed your head up doesn't mean—"

"No," Jensen says. "I don't blame her."

Jared purses his lips, shakes his head. "I don't understand why you always defend her."

"Because I _know_ I'm in control of myself, Jared. I know that's _all_ I can control. I've known that for a long time. I can't blame the choices I've made on anyone else; I made them. I always decided."

"That doesn't mean she didn't hurt you," Jared snaps. "Besides, if that's true…" he shakes his head, face tightening. "If you control yourself… if you always get to decide…" Jared bites his lower lip, eyes fierce. "Then why the hell wouldn't you choose to believe that you deserve me?"

The words don't seem to make any sense—except that they _do_ , somewhere down deep inside, because Jensen feels like he just got sucker punched in the face. "What?"

"You taught me the key to everything I know about myself. You taught me that it's always my decision to give up control, to decide how I feel, to decide what I want. That I'm never a victim. That I always have a _choice_. You _taught_ me that," Jared says, eyes narrowing. Jared breaks off, jaw muscle knotting under the skin, takes a deep breath. "And if that's true… that means you have the same choices." He looks at Jensen, uncomprehending. "So why wouldn't you choose to deserve me?"

"Jared, it's not that simple—"

"Isn't it? Jensen, you made me everything I am. Without you I'd still be some spoiled rotten rich kid talking shit and skating by on his parent’s money. You gave me the power to be my own person." Jared shakes his head, incredulous. "So how the _fuck_ can you think you don't deserve me? I'm lucky to have _you_." 

"That's exactly what I've said about Isabelle," Jensen says, challenging. 

For a split second, Jared looks like he got slapped, and then he just looks _angry_. "How can you even compare her to what you mean to me?" he asks, rising suddenly to his knees. "You think I don't know the difference between the two of you?" The words are hurled like a weapon, spit across the space between them.

"If you didn't know the difference, how would you be able to tell?"

He expects a loud rebuttal, but when Jared finally speaks, it's with disgusted dismissal. "Because you'd still be all fucked up and I still wouldn't."

Jensen closes his eyes against the dappled sunlight, against Jared's face. 

It hurts a lot more than he would have thought, even if it is true.

The sound of Jared's footsteps are loud against the ground as he stomps away. 

*

Jensen is sitting with his back against a tree trunk, twisting his watch around his wrist, one quarter turn at a time, cell phone caught between the thumb and fingers of his other hand. He's been doing this for so long that he thinks his wrist is starting to chafe, but he can't bring himself to care very much. He knows he should. He also knows he should know how long he's been sitting here, considering he's been spinning his watch the entire time, but he doesn't. He's aware that he's not operating on his usual level. His mind is a seriously unlevel place right now. 

He stops twisting his watch, presses a hand to his forehead, sharp pain shooting between his eyes. "Unlevel"? Jensen _weeps_ for the generation of Buffy-speak, however intelligent the show might have been. But he weeps even more for how it's begun to infect him.

And here he is with his thumb on the trigger, about to call the spokesperson for the language.

Fuck.

Chad. He actually feels like he _needs Chad_. 

And even though it's a little like realizing you're addicted to bathtub meth and you need another hit, it doesn't stop him from pushing the button.

*

Chad is not amused when Jensen explains.

"Ackles, I know you're old and shit, but it's a little early for you to be having a mid-life crisis."

"What? We're on a schedule?"

"Oh, wait. You're gonna be thirty next year, right? Sorry, dude. We're right on fuckin' time for the existential crisis."

Jensen's actually familiar with this subject. "You're talking about when people reach crucial ages and they start to realize their mortality, question their existence."

Chad hesitates on the other end of the line, and Jensen can almost picture his face. "All right, Ackles. Look at you, with the Googling."

"Okay," Chad breathes out slow, and to Jensen it smacks of someone talking to a very small, very young child. He hates it. Grits his teeth and bears it, because he knows he _is_ a very small, very young child sometimes, and God help him, but Chad's been right about him more times than he can count. 

"Let's try this," Chad goes on, exhaling. "I'm Jared. I'm in love with you, and I'm more awesome than chocolate chip cookies laced with acid, right?"

"Acid?" Jensen asks, blinking.

"Like you never did LSD, please. Whatever, Ackles."

Jensen sighs, presses fingertips to his brow. "I don't see how that's relevant."

"Right, so. I'm Jared, I'm the shit, the best thing ever. You think the sun rises and sets on my fucking ass, and I'm _in love_ with you."

"Could you please not ever say you're in love with me, ever again?"

"Dude, it's an example. I know it's probably giving you a guilty hard on, but stay with me here. You love Jared more than anything, dude. Even _I_ get that."

"Okay." Jensen rubs a hand along his jaw. 

"You missed the important part." Chad sounds edgy. "Jared's _in love_ with you."

Jensen shifts the phone to his other ear. "I _know_. Just... sometimes I don't know _why_."

"That's not the important thing, here. The important thing here, that you're still missing, is if Jared's so wonderful and fuckin' perfect, and he's in love with you... do you really think he doesn't have reasons? Do you think he could be _wrong_ about loving you?"

Jensen's too perplexed to be able to answer.

"Do the math, dude. 'Cause I know you really don't want me to launch into some huge metaphor that's gonna prove my point anyway. I will though, if you can't fuckin' man up." 

Jensen's still stunned. For as honest as Chad's always been with him, he's pretty sure he's never heard Chad be this… _linear_. 

"It's like this. If you don't believe you're good enough for Jared to love? It's because you _don't_ , dude. That's it. Because _you_. _Don't_. I hate to go all fuckin' cliché on you, man, but you don't love yourself, so you don't understand how anyone else can, either."

Jensen's silent for a moment, thinking. "Even if that were true… how do I fix that?"

"By being the kind of person you _can_ love," Chad says, impatient. "Look, dude, we've already had this conversation five different times, five different ways over the last three years and I've got some serious shit happening here. I gotta go."

Chad hangs up before Jensen can say another word.

It occurs to Jensen then that even _Chad_ is frustrated with him.

This is possibly a new all-time low.

*

He walks the beach until the sun is setting, glorious red, orange and gold against a fading blue-purple sky, color streaking out over the sea. It's beautiful, but Jensen can't find it in himself to appreciate it. He wants more than anything to go back to the house, wrap his arms around Jared and whisper everything that will make this right into his ear. He just doesn't know what the _right_ thing is.

He’s not used to not knowing what to do. His routines, his understood constants are gone; the key is gone, Jared is gone, even Chad--his rock-bottom-last-ditch-effort--hung up on him. 

The beach house is silent when he enters, bedroom door closed, house cut with slashes of white light and shadow through the open blinds.

Jensen lays on the couch, tosses and turns, unsettled by the unfamiliarity of the room. Not only is the room unfamiliar, but Jared’s not here with him, and that bothers him on a different level than the change in his environment. If Jared were here, he could deal with the other changes. But Jared isn’t, and that makes it even harder.

He finally falls into fitful sleep, oversleeps, and when he wakes in the morning, Jared’s already gone, no note.

He stares at the steady drip of the coffee maker and wonders if he really deserves this for telling the truth.

He works on solving the secrets of the universe every single day, but he can’t solve _this_?

Get the cup from the cabinet. Fine. Start with the basic method. State your hypothesis; Jared is pissed. 

A few minutes later he’s sitting at the wooden dining room table with a pen and paper, writing everything out, steaming mug of coffee sitting near his hand. He’s already done the experiment and collected the data, so all that’s left is to analyze and interpret it. It’s not true science—he’s not planning to experiment any further with pissing Jared off—but it makes him feel a lot better. Forty five minutes and three pages later, he’s definitely proven his initial hypothesis. It doesn’t tell him what he should do, but it does give him a lot to think about.

Sometimes, Jensen hates being so analytical, because it means that he has to be aware of things he really wishes he wasn't. It also means he gets to be just aware enough to understand that his analytical ability leaves certain, other things just beyond his grasp. Logically, he can always break problems down to their most simple parts and understand the relationships of the pieces to each other. It's the emotion that comes with human problems that he can't dissect and put neatly into categories.

Emotion is like fire at zero gravity. It's as gorgeous as it is deadly. It dances, licking along in hot, bright ribbons, red, greedy tongues, ravenous and ethereal as they consume. It flows everywhere, unpredictable and completely unstoppable, as long as oxygen feeds it.

Jensen tried to stop feeding it a long time ago. Since Jared came into his life, stopping is like trying not to breathe.

_\--"You want too much, Jensen. You care too much."--_

_\--it's the human condition to desire. To want. To seek more, even when that 'more' is 'more of less'. It's a desire to prove something to ourselves, and others.--_

_\--"I want to learn to be like you."--_

He never could get a handle on his emotions. Being smarter than everyone around him, including his parents and most of his teachers didn’t help. He spent a lot of his life feeling alone. He knows he was damaged long before Isabelle called him to her room that afternoon. He never learned anything about love and relationships except that they caused a lot of pain and to avoid them at all costs.

Isabelle taught him that.

He looks at the papers in front of him and bites down on the inside of his cheek, thinking. Scientific method is designed for investigating phenomena, acquiring new knowledge, or correcting and integrating previous knowledge. He hasn’t figured out anything new. Maybe he’s not investigating the right data.

He stacks the written pages neatly and sets them aside, pen hovering over a blank sheet of paper.

_11:15, restate my assumptions: 1. Jared is angry with me because I defended Isabelle 2. I defended Isabelle because I agree with her actions. 3. I agree with Isabelle’s actions because I assume responsibility for my own choices. Therefore: If I did not assume responsibility for my own choices, Jared would not be angry with me._

He taps his pen against the paper, steady thunk, thunk, thunk as he rereads what he’s written.

He can’t find fault with it, but he’s not satisfied with the answer. Why would Jared be angry with him for assuming responsibility for his own actions? He could go with that if Jared were anybody else. But Jared’s _not_ anybody else. Jared wouldn’t be angry for, what, to Jensen, equates to no reason. It’s that simple. Reassess assumptions.  
 _  
1\. Jared is angry with me because I defended Isabelle_

Yes. He’s sure that’s true. He’s not much of a talker, anyway. Jensen knows he’s always been better at communicating with his hands, his body. But even if he were a talker, he’d still know not to talk to Jared about Isabelle. Jared thinks Isabelle fucked him up. Jensen knows he’s fucked up, but he doesn’t think it’s Isabelle’s fault. It’s something they’ve never been able to discuss without one of them getting angry. 

It’s science. Be objective. Step outside. Jared has a theory, a hypothesis. It has to be explored, tested. Consider the idea.

Jensen went to her to learn control. She taught him. Jared came to him looking for something similar. Jensen taught him. Jensen’s fucked up; Jared isn’t. He’s done the same thing for Jared that Isabelle did for him, yet he’s screwed up. Given that, it makes sense that the fault was his in the first place.

_That doesn’t mean she didn’t hurt you._

His fingers twitch around the smooth plastic of the pen.

No. He made his own choices.

_“Did you think that I care for you? Did you imagine a future for us, Jensen?”_

The way she always kept him at a distance, the way she laughed when he finally admitted he wanted her approval; that he might actually care about her. 

But he chose to stay, and finally, he chose to leave. 

Does that mean it didn’t hurt? Does that mean that he agreed with the way she treated him?

He squeezes his fingers around the pen until they throb.

She broke him down until finally he had no choice but to become something else. Something harder, stronger. Something that would never let anyone do that to him again. She didn’t teach him so much as she drove him to it. He thinks of his eyes in the pictures, how they’d changed, grown slowly colder as his heart hardened. 

He crosses a slow line through _I agree with Isabelle’s actions_. 

And if that’s… if _that’s_ not true, then…

He’d thought he was trying to convince Jared that Isabelle didn’t mess him up. But what if…

What if she did? And what if that’s exactly what he’s afraid he’s doing to Jared?

He thinks of the dream he’d told Jared about. The way she’d kissed Jared before she emptied Jensen. The way she’d become Jensen at the end. 

He sits back in the chair, drops the pen on the table.

It was just a dream. It doesn’t mean…

Except that it does. He knows it does. The dream, the way he doesn’t feel worthy, the argument with Jared over her. 

Jensen is afraid that he _is_ her. 

And if _that’s_ true, then that means he’s thought all along that she messed him up. And if _that’s_ true… then how much else has he been lying to himself about?

Jensen runs his hands through his hair, tugs hard at the ends. No. No, that _can’t_ be right.

_I assume responsibility for my own choices._

Isabelle never told him he had a choice, but when it ended, he realized he wouldn’t have done it for so long if he hadn’t chosen to. That’s why he told Jared over and over again in the beginning that it was Jared’s choice.

But how much choice did he really have? He’d been halfway to being in love with her for most of his life. How much choice did he feel when she pushed him against the wall, kissed him with that knowing mouth? Did he really know he had the option to say no?

She was an ideal, unattainable. He was an out of control, rebellious kid, and she was a full grown woman of decorum and poise. He never thought she’d want him. She’d tasted like peppermint tea, lips firm and sure, and she was everything he’d ever wanted, imagined. Everything he’d ever thought he needed. 

‘No’ was never an option. 

_Responsibility is the dark side of freedom. When you realize that you are completely responsible for your decisions, actions, and beliefs, how can you not be overcome by anxiety? To try and escape anxiety by ignoring, denying your freedom, your responsibility? But doing that only means you’re ignoring or denying your actual situation. You succeed only in deceiving yourself._

But what if you try to escape anxiety by assuming responsibility for someone else’s actions?

He feels… sick. Pushes from the dining room chair with a dull scrape of wood and walks to the window, hand grasping the molding. Breathes fast and deep, heart thudding in his chest.

She never asked… she never offered a choice. She knew he wanted her, and she took. She never cared for anything he felt.

He feels something break open inside him, locked door releasing a sudden rush of feeling that almost sends him to his knees.

He’d loved her, he realizes. Loved her the best that a sixteen year old could. Not true love; childish love born out of need, infatuation, completely misguided and one-sided. She played on it, took him apart until there was nothing left and then laughed at him.

He… _God_. He _resents_ her. He’s _angry_ at her.

Jensen doesn’t believe in holding grudges, doesn’t believe in blaming anyone for his own feelings. He knows the philosophy’s got to be right. Zen doesn’t exist because _he_ made it up. 

But there’s a difference between knowing the path, and walking the path.

Christ. He presses his hands to his face, pushes into them. He’s still sixteen, still just as fucked up as he ever was, and everything Isabelle did to him just made him that much worse.

He turns, puts his back against the wall next to the window and sinks to the floor, knees drawn up in front him.

11:38, restate assumptions: 1. Jared is angry with me because I defended Isabelle 2. I defended Isabelle because I’m afraid that if her choices were wrong, then so are mine. 3. I assumed responsibility for Isabelle’s choices in order to continue avoiding knowing this. Therefore: Jared is right.

Jared is right.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

Jensen doesn’t linger long. His theory has been disproved. 

Yes. His last theory’s failure means he’s got some… _things_ he’s going to have to deal with. But there are a few other theories that he needs to look at before he can even think about dealing with his latest revelations.

By late afternoon, Jensen’s worked his way through several hypotheses and retired to the bedroom, lack of sleep finally catching up to him. 

He sets the stacks of paper neatly on the bed beside him, pen on the night stand, and puts his head to the pillow. He sleeps lightly, dreaming of being lost in mango groves. 

He wakes to Jared shaking his shoulder. 

“Okay,” Jared says as Jensen piles pillows behind his back and sits up, blinking. “I thought about it. And fuck that, Jensen. I’m not backing down. She fucked you over.” 

Jared’s got all his arguments ready; Jensen can see them fidgeting on the end of his tongue. Jensen almost wants to laugh at the irony. “You’re right.” 

“Of course I am—" Jared stops… sits back, looking at Jensen. “What?” 

Jensen reaches for the night stand drawer and pulls out his glasses, slides them onto his face and Jared comes suddenly, clearly into view. “There’s a lot I need to tell you…” Jensen says, pushing his glasses tight against the bridge of his nose, “and the first thing is…” he clears his throat, “is that I’m sorry.” 

Jared stills, just looking at him. “Okay.” He’s still rigid, not ready to forgive Jensen yet. “What’s the second thing?” 

Jensen sighs. "Chad says I need to love myself." 

"Wait. _What?_ ” Jared blinks rapidly, totally confused. “When did you talk to Chad about this?" 

"I called him. Yesterday afternoon, after we fought." 

" _You_ called Chad?" Jared sits up straight in disbelief. "Wait. You called Chad and _asked_ him for advice?" Jared sputters, amazed when Jensen nods. "Jesus, Jensen. Did it hurt?" 

Jensen raises his brows, wry as he nods. "A lot." 

Jared shakes his head, smile tugging the corner of his mouth. "Well. Chad's right." 

Jensen nods again. "He usually is." 

"Okay." Jared settles back on the bed, cross legged and _stares_ at him. "Who _are_ you, and what have you done with Jensen? What the fuck happened while I was gone?" 

"I figured some things out." Jensen glances at the list of what he wants to say, but he doesn't need it; he's already memorized it. He takes a deep breath. "You're right about Isabelle. You're right about the difference between us. What she did to me… it's not what I did to you. But to figure that out… I had to figure out something else, that you were wrong about. I didn't make you who you are." 

"Of course you did." 

"No. I helped you understand who you really were, already. I just showed you the way. I didn't break you down until you had to become someone who would never get broken again." 

"Jensen…" Jared whispers, eyes sad. 

"I wasn't perfect when I went to her. But she didn't help me at all. I learned what I wanted to know, but it wasn't the right lesson, and she didn't teach me; she pushed me to it. And I let her make me into something else. I shut down my feelings, I turned cold. I learned about real control on my own, that I was responsible for my own choices… and that was the right lesson… for the wrong reasons." 

"The point is…" Jensen says, exhaling. "You saw me at my worst, and even after you realized you had the choice not to be with me… even when you had no reason to believe that I cared, you chose me. When I realized I had the choice not to be with her, I walked away. That has to mean, on some level, I knew she was no good for me. You've never turned cold; you've only gotten warmer, and more loving. You've never shut down. You've learned about controlling yourself and making your own choices." 

"Chad also pointed out that if I think you're perfect… then how could I think you're wrong about loving me? How could I think that you don't have good reasons?" He tilts his head, meets Jared's eyes. "I love you, Jared. I admire the way you really think about things, and how you always come to the best conclusion in the end. I respect the person you were, that you've become, that you're still becoming. And that has to mean… that I believe in your choices, that I agree with them." Jensen pauses, shakes his head, a thin, bewildered smile on his lips. "You chose me. Again, and again, and again. And finally, I let you. That has to mean… that I agreed with your choice, and the reasons you made it." 

"And all of that," Jensen says, "means I must be good for you. And somewhere, deep down, I already knew that." Jensen nods slowly, agreeing with himself. "I'm not her." 

Jared's eyes are thoughtful as he absorbs all of that. "So… if you agree that I should love you… then doesn't that mean you already love yourself?" 

"That's the theory," Jensen smirks. "I've got the logic to back it up. Now I just have to prove it." He shrugs. "It's a start." 

"It's more than a start. So what do you think? If I'd stayed away another day, you could've cured cancer? Solved world peace? My God, Jensen. You're…" Jared shakes his head, looking awed. "I don't know if there's a word for what you are." 

"Thinking's the easier part. The emotions and the actual proving…” Jensen hesitates. "Jared…” Jensen bites down on his lower lip. "What you said, you weren't wrong. I know I'm fucked up--" 

Jared lies down next to Jensen, lays a hand on Jensen's face, warm fingertips along his cheekbone, stares straight into his eyes. "No. You aren't." Jared's fingertips tremble against Jensen's cheek. "You're brilliant, and complex and complicated, funny, and gorgeous, and you try _so_ hard. You're warm, and loving, giving and thoughtful. You take _care_ of me. And sometimes you drive me crazy because you're so fucking stubborn, but I love that about you, too. You're the most intense, amazing, _rewarding_ person I've ever known.” 

Jared leans his forehead against Jensen's. "God… I'm sorry, Jensen.” 

"Don’t be," Jensen breathes. It takes him a moment to get his voice under control. "I never would have figured any of this out if you hadn't said that." He clears his throat, meets Jared's eyes head on. "You told me once that I challenge you to be more than you think you are. That I make you think, make you look at who you are and push you to be greater than you are…" Jensen swallows, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "And what I've never said… is that you do the same thing for me. Always have. You teach _me_." Jensen takes a breath. "I'm sorry I've never said it before." 

"You never had to," Jared whispers, mouth warm and soft against Jensen's. "I know." 

Jensen rolls them both over, trapping Jared underneath him, hands catching under him, palms gliding over muscle down to the small of his back. 

"Then let me tell you something else." Jensen dips his head, traces the swell of Jared's lower lip with his tongue. "Whenever we're touching…" Jensen says, fingers curling against the base of Jared's spine. "I can _feel_ you. The way you move, the way we're supposed to move together." Jensen rolls his hips into Jared, cocks aligning, rubbing against each other with sweet friction. "I feel the way we fit." 

"You never felt that… with anyone else?" Jared asks, breathless. 

"Not like this," Jensen shakes his head, lips grazing against Jared's with the movement. "I get the rhythms of people; I know how to move with them. But it always took effort to fall into line with them; it took conscious thinking. Before I met you." 

"So what's it like with me?" Jared asks, words breathed into his mouth. 

"It's natural. It's instinct." Jensen rocks his hips into Jared, words whispered out guttural. "All I have to do… is move, and it _happens_." 

"Like it's perfect," Jared breathes, shivering. It's not a question. "Like it's meant to be." 

"Yes." Jensen's eyes are tight as he looks down at Jared. "I don't understand it. I spent my life thinking I'd never find anyone who fit with me." 

"I do." Jared raises his hands, cupping Jensen's face. "I fit. We fit." 

"I know," Jensen whispers. "But can you understand… why that's so hard for me to accept sometimes?" 

"No," Jared says, smiling, thumbs stroking Jensen's cheeks. "I really _can't_." 

Jensen can't help but laugh. "And that…" Jensen says, hands sliding up the length of Jared's spine as he kisses him gently. "Is why I love you."

*

Later, they fuck on the shoreline under the silvered light of a full moon, waves rolling in and gently breaking over Jensen’s thighs, smell and taste of salt on Jared's skin, sea and bodies mixed together. 

After, Jensen lays in bed with his arms around Jared, eyes closed, listening to him breathe. Sometimes it helps him sleep, that steady rhythm, but tonight isn't one of those nights. There's still too much noise inside his head.

*

He sits at the dining room table at 1AM in front of a fresh piece of paper, pen flowing out the words; 

_The only thing I can control is myself_. 

He really, _really_ needs to know that he can control himself, because if he can't… 

_Nothing’s sure_

The rest is chaos. 

Everything's been so great since they've been here. Things between him and Jared have been even better than ever, which is _amazing_. Perfect. And then he lost the key and everything started unraveling. 

He thinks about that, and really, once he lets himself begin to look, it doesn’t take long. He gets it. Point taken. He'd been so focused on losing the key that he was losing sight of Jared. 

He's… been allowing the loss of key to destroy everything—even, apparently, his ability to live in denial of his feelings about Isabelle. 

It’s gone. Holding on to the key is only hurting things between him and Jared. 

He needs to let it go. Easier said than done... but what about the rest of it?

Let go. 

He remembers himself in the dream with the torch Chad gave him, book under his arm and tiara on his head. The symbolism is clearly representative of the Statue of Liberty. But he’d been terrified, had shoved the torch back at Chad.

The new colossus. Freedom. Libertas. 

Why would he be afraid of being free? 

_Responsibility is the dark side of freedom. It is difficult to understand that you are completely responsible for your decisions, actions, and beliefs._

He’s always assumed responsibility for his own actions, and apparently, even the actions of others. He’s got that part more than covered. 

But…that’s very scientific. It sounds almost rational. His world is nothing resembling rational, right now. 

He thinks hard, hand running through his hair, pen hovering over the page. 

Decisions. Actions. Beliefs. It’s not enough. It’s not everything. 

When he writes the words, it’s with a shaking, slanting lilt he hardly recognizes as his own. 

_Being free **also** means assuming responsibility for your own emotions._

The only thing he can control is himself. 

Emotions can’t be controlled. 

Emotions are chaos. 

He’s not ready to be that free. 

And yet… there is this burn in his chest, when he thinks of Isabelle. Intense, raging burn; fire at zero gravity, out of control. 

He pushes it down, puts distance between himself and the feeling. 

The problem with opening doors is that once you open them, you have to see whatever is on the other side. You can't just shut the door and forget. You're going to remember whatever you saw. You're going to carry it with you. Which means it gets out no matter what you do. 

Once a thing is known, it can never be unknown again. 

And it's never going to fucking leave you alone. 

Your choices are to deal with it, or deny it. 

He’s already spent too many years in denial. 

He remembers her face and thinks maybe he can stand a few more. 

*

The next morning, Jensen wakes before the sun rises and can't go back to sleep, brain tossing and turning inside his head.

He rises from the bed, writes Jared a note and leaves it on the dining room table, just in case.

The sky is lightening, shades of blue and purple, and the landscape of the beach looks different, world painted in the hues of pre-dawn light. Everything looks innocent... untouched and pure.

There's a weight in his chest, heavy and brittle, sharp edges turning, cutting inside him.

He's recognized that he's angry at Isabelle, that he has a right to be angry. Scientific method decrees that once a theory is proven, it remains proven until there is new data. That is where it ends. You take that theory made temporary fact, and you move on, find the next theory.

But he can't move on.

He's not ready to take responsibility for his emotions... but here they are.

His emotions have already been set free. And he can’t quantify them. Can’t rationalize them. How can he deal with them if he can't think them through?

He needs answers. 

It's not as hard the second time, but it's not easy, either.

Chad picks up on the second ring. "You know how much I _love_ your phone calls, dude, but I can't help you today." 

Chad sounds… odd. Even odder than the other day. Not like his usual self at all. Jensen isn't sure how to handle this. "Are you… okay?" 

"Ackles… I'm having a really bad day," Chad confesses, way more human than Jensen needs him to be. "A really bad _couple_ of days." 

Jensen could let it go, right here, right now. He probably should. But Chad's never turned away from him. Even when he’s frustrated and irritated with Jensen, he always tries to help. 

Jensen licks his lips, takes a deep breath. "Why? What's wrong?" 

Chad pauses, and Jensen can almost feel Chad's surprise. "You really wanna know? Or you want me to listen and give sage fuckin' advice and butt heads and play the same fuckin' game we always play?" 

Jensen considers that for a moment. In all the time he's known Chad, Chad's never once complained, never once come to Jensen with his problems. And Jensen knows Chad's got to have them; everyone does. It's just… that it's never occurred to him before now to _ask_. 

"I want to know." 

There's a long hesitation on the other end of the line. 

And then Chad starts to talk. 

*

Jensen doesn't get any answers to his questions. He doesn't even bother to ask them. He does find out what's going on with Chad, though.

Jensen walks back to the beach house along the edge of the tree line, lost in thought. 

Jared comes into view around a curve of verdant green, clad in nothing but his swim trunks and a smile. His skin is bronze and gorgeous, and it makes his smile even more striking.

"Hey," he says, slipping into Jensen's arms. "I woke up and found your note. Thought I'd come find you."

Waves roll in, gentle crash against the sand as the tide begins to come in. The early morning sun paints the sky silver at the edges as it rises above the brilliant, blue water. The palms whisper in the gentle breeze coming off the waves, carrying the rich scent of bright flowers and sea. Jensen threads his fingers through Jared's and kisses him.

"I was having the craziest fucking dream," Jared murmurs, and Jensen steps around him, pulling Jared into step alongside. "It's all your fault, by the way," Jared grins. 

Jensen smiles. "Really?"

"Yeah. Chad was an actor. And he played one of the main characters on some crazy ass teen show. And so I'm there on the set of this show, and he's bitching about how he has to keep showing up in your dreams when he's got this _real_ job to do. And they're filming this scene on stage, and I know it's black and white, just because I do, and Chad goes in all Clark Gable or whatever, smoking away, talking to the bartender."

Jensen turns his face toward Jared's, arching a brow. "A 1940’s episode on a teen show?"

"Don't ask me," Jared frowns, then laughs. "And _then_ , you come in, and suddenly the set's all different, and I realize I have to get in front of the cameras with you. You're wearing the key... except it isn't really the key, it's something else I can't quite figure out, but I know I gave it to you, and I know it _means_ the same thing. So, then, eventually, we start to fuck, and Chad's there again, and he's all like, 'dude, this isn't a fuckin' cable show. There's laws against this shit'."

Jensen laughs. 

"And that's when I woke up. I told you, it's all your fault, dreaming about Chad being an actor."

"Don't blame your warped brain on me," Jensen grins.

There's a movement to Jensen's left in the coconut trees. Jensen glances up one slender trunk and sees a monkey scurrying up the ridges of bark. He's about to look away when the sun catches, gleaming on the edge of something silver around its neck. 

It's a key. 

It takes a second to sink in, fingers twitching at his side. 

_You've got to be fucking kidding me_. 

He stops, stands there, slack jawed in the morning island sunlight, and watches as the monkey swings itself out to one of the palm fronds.

"Jared," he whispers, pointing.

"Oh my God," Jared breathes.

Jensen's pretty sure he can't climb trees anymore like he did when he was twelve. He's also sure there's no fucking way he's not gonna find out if that's true. 

* 

Twenty minutes later, disheveled and bruised and still keyless, he stands at the base of the tree, chewing on his lower lip. His heart is thundering, mouth dry, hands shaking. 

_Dammit._

Fucking monkey and its fucking opposable thumbs. 

It's getting further and further away every second. Think, Jensen. "Primates are not indigenous to this island," he says to Jared. "That means it has to belong to _someone_." Dammit, dammit, dammit. "But there's five thousand fucking people on this island." 

"Hoauni’s village is close to here." Jared looks itchy inside his skin. "Whoever owns the monkey has to live somewhere in the area. He might know." 

Jensen _runs_ to the village, Jared right beside him.

*

"Jensen, Jared." Hoauni looks surprised when he opens the door, and then he sees the expression on Jensen's face.

"What has happened?"

*

Hoauni doesn't know who owns the monkey, but he does know a lot of people. It takes them the rest of the afternoon to track it down, Jensen so tense and anxious he hardly knows what to do with himself. It's so close, and he can't put his hands on it. 

When they finally find out where the monkey's owner lives, Jensen can't even let himself hope until they walk into the hotel and he sees the monkey with his own eyes.

"I am sorry," the hotel owner is saying as he lifts the chain from around the monkey's neck. "I would have returned it, but I did not know where he took it from."

Jensen's barely listening, eyes focused on the key, fingertips twitching. 

"If you knew he stole it, why did you let him keep it?" Jared asks.

The man behind the counter shrugs, and the monkey makes a chittering noise, paw swiping at the key. "I could have taken it. But no one would know it was here." He places the key on the palm of Jensen's hand. "You found it, didn't you?"

Jensen closes his fingers around the familiar shape of it, and he feels... relief so sharp and complete that it's almost a physical sensation.

God. He can't even fucking _believe it_.

He has to take a moment and just breathe.

Jared takes the key from his hand and spreads the chain open, placing it over his head, circling it around his neck. He feels the weight settle in like comfort, fingers smoothing it against his chest, and Jared leans, lips grazing his lightly.

Hoauni claps a hand against his shoulder as Jared draws away.

"Do you feel better now, hoa?"

"Yes."

"What has changed?" Hoauni asks, as if he really wants to know.

Jensen thinks about that for a moment. 

"Things are right again." 

*

Hoauni insists on making them dinner to celebrate. Hereiti and Hereuni take Jared by the hand and finish teaching him the dance while Jensen watches, sitting in the kitchen while Hoauni cooks. Jensen twirls the key back and forth between his fingertips while they talk, rubbing over the edges and textures of it.

"What is it that makes it so important?" Hoauni finally asks, nodding to the key between Jensen's fingers.

Jensen thinks about how to explain it. "It's what they key _means_." 

"Ah," the old mans' wrinkled face lights with understanding. "It's a symbol, aita?"

Jensen nods.

"This is very good news, hoa. That means you never lost anything." 

"What?" The old man isn't a stranger anymore, but it's still unsettling to Jensen how Hoauni speaks as if he's got some kind of insight into Jensen.

"You give the symbol meaning." One of the old man's hands moves expansively, other hand pausing, knife stilling against the cutting board. "You define it. You don't need the symbol."

Jensen presses his lips together, stares at the old man. "What if I do?"

"Then maybe it was a good thing that you lost it, so that you could learn," the old man says and smiles.

Jensen doesn't much like the implications of that answer. "It doesn't matter now that I have it back," Jensen shrugs.

"Opportunities to learn always matter," Hoauni says, voice mild. Then he beckons Jensen to the stove. "Like this. You cook, yes? Let me teach you how to make this dish."

Cubed chicken breast, onions, papaya, coconut milk, salt and pepper, the ingredients are simple enough if not a combination Jensen would have thought appealing, but it turns out to be delicious.

They dine on green mango salad and papaya chicken with sweet rice while Hoauni tells them stories about the island legends. After, Hereiti and Hereuni put on music and pull Jensen into the living room, where Jared performs the mating dance with them. He's graceful and sure, sharp movements like fire in contrast to the flow of the women's arms and hips. Jared laughs occasionally, as he goes through the movements, exchanging glances with the girls, who smile back. Hoauni laughs and claps, calling out encouragement and Jensen can't help smiling, watching Jared enjoy himself so much.

The girls have to leave to perform shortly after that, and Jensen and Jared say their goodbyes and thank yous before they begin the short walk to the beach house.

They've barely shut the door behind them when Jared turns, puts his hands on Jensen's hips, eyes playful. “You know.” Jared’s voice is low and sultry, mouth teasing at Jensen’s neck. “I was thinking... Since we got the key back. We should put it to use.”

He's just as eager as Jared. He's been feeling so good since they got the key back, finally like himself again.

“I don't know..." Jensen raises his brows. "It's been a long day... I think I might be too tired," he murmurs, thumbs pressing into the hollows of Jared’s hips. 

"Please?" Jared's looking up at Jensen through his lashes, mouth brushing against Jensen's pulse.

Jensen puts a finger on Jared’s chin and tilts Jared’s face up, teeth catching the swell of Jared’s lower lip, lips closing behind for an instant before he releases. “So impatient,” he whispers, smiling against Jared’s mouth. “Don’t worry. I’m gonna collar you and have my way with your hot ass soon enough.”

Jared shivers a little with the promise. “What if I made it really easy for you, tonight?”

Jensen arches a lazy brow at him, running his hands up Jared’s sides. “And how would you do that?”

"Since you're so tired," Jared nudges his cheek against Jensen's, letting his mouth brush feather light against Jensen's jaw, "what if I do all the work?"

Jensen lifts his chin, pretends to think it over.

"You could let me lead into it..." Jared's breathes, voice husky, "do everything, and then when you want..." 

Jensen cocks his head to the left, just a little, looking at Jared with reproach.

Jared bites his lower lip as he realizes. " _If_ you want to lock it, then I could still do everything... you could direct me, make me do everything you want me to do to you while you just sit there.”

It's not something Jensen would ever ask. It's not something he'd be comfortable doing, just _taking_ , not giving back anything. But if Jared actually wants to do this... then it's for Jared, too.

Jensen tilts his head back and narrows his eyes at Jared, challenging and arrogant. "You're _sure_ you want to offer me that?"

"Yes, sir." There's not an ounce of hesitation in him, his heartbeat speeding up, cock pressing rock hard against Jensen's.

"Then ask if you can service me," Jensen whispers, bites the line of Jared's jaw and twists the skin.

Jared stiffens, breath seizing in his chest. "Can I service you, sir, please?"

"May," Jensen snaps, eyes tightening on Jared's.

"May I?" Jared asks, casts his downward, so demure, so submissive.

Jensen smirks, thumbing along the swell of Jared's lower lip, fingers sliding, catching, pressing deep into the softness of Jared's cheek, thumb under his chin, digging into the space between bone. He holds Jared there, lets his mouth drag hot, lower lip trailing along Jared's cheekbone. "Such a privilege, Jared," Jensen whispers, hot and thick into Jared's ear, mouth curving in a smile. "What makes you think you deserve it?"

"I don't," Jared whispers back, chin trembling under his touch. "Unless _you_ think I do."

He leans back a little, turns Jared's face slowly back and forth with one hand, looking Jared over for a long moment, eyes calculated. Finally, he answers. "You may."

Jared breathes out the words _thank you_ like they're a relief.

"Go to the bedroom," Jared pleads, voice raw. "Please. Sir."

Jensen leads, Jared trailing just behind, and when they reach the foot of the bed, Jensen stops, turns and looks at Jared expectantly. Jared hurries to the closet, then the dresser drawers, pulling out what he wants, and then he carries it all to Jensen, falls to his knees and looks up through his bangs, eyes begging. "Please may I undress and dress you, sir?" teeth worrying at his lower lip as he asks permission.

Jensen grants it with a slight nod of his head, watching Jared critically. Jared rises to his feet, takes the hem of Jensen's shirt between his fingers and pulls it upward, so very slowly. Jensen lifts his arms when Jared tugs high enough, Jared easing each arm through the opening, fingers spreading the neck wide and raising it over Jensen's head so that the material never touches his face. Jared folds the shirt carefully, sets it aside on the bed, and then Jared's right back on his knees, untying the knot holding Jensen's shorts on his hips. Jared slides them down, lifts each of Jensen's feet one at a time through the legs and sets them back down. Folds the shorts and sets them on top of the shirt. Jared wraps a hand around the back of Jensen's knee, fingers fitting to the shape, lifts Jensen's foot into the leg of his leather pants, drawing them up around the calf until Jensen's foot touches the carpet again. Jared does the same with Jensen's other leg, then rises up, drawing the pants to Jensen's knees, tugging gently back and forth across Jensen's thighs until he reaches Jensen's hips and settles them there. Jared tucks Jensen's cock inside the leather opening, zips it closed with careful reverence, long fingers fastening the button with ease.

Jared sits back down on his knees, takes one of Jensen's hands in his, presses the barest kiss against Jensen's knuckles, then fits the leather fingers of the glove to Jensen's hand, smoothing it across his palm. One glove, then the other. 

It's erotic, heady, Jared serving him like this, fingers and leather against his skin... but Jensen doesn't let a bit of it show in his face, watching Jared impassively.

Jared settles on his knees again, eyes downcast. "I need to set the scene for you. In the living room," he says, almost apologetic.

"Then you'd better hurry." Jensen lifts his chin, staring down at Jared. "Before I change my mind."

Jared goes and returns quickly, breathing deep and fast. "Please... will you go and sit in the chair in the center of the room? So that I can..." Jared glances at the floor, "service you."

Jared is _way_ too good at this, and it's seriously turning Jensen on.

Jensen steps up, grabs Jared's chin between his fingers and yanks his head up, forcing Jared to look at him. Jared moans, turning his head into Jensen's grip. Jensen's jaw twists, tight coil as he considers... and then he pushes Jared away--just a little--turning towards the door.

The living room is dark except for the diffused light from the hallway, white chair pulled to the center of the living room, so much like the one he has at home. He flexes his fingers inside the thin, buttery casing of his gloves and sits down.

He hears Jared before he sees him, eyes flicking up to the hallway.

Jared is... not where Jensen expects him to be. Jared is... down on all fours, stripped naked except for the collar around his neck. Jared is _down on all fours_. Jensen feels the sight hit him like a shock, blood pounding his veins, cock instantly going rock hard, aching against his belly. Jared puts a single hand forward, opposite knee moving to follow behind, and Jensen feels all the blood in his body rush to his cock as he realizes what's happening.

Jared is _crawling_ across the floor, hips and shoulders slinging back and forth, side to side as he slinks toward Jensen, body cut with deep shadows and soft light from the hallway that shifts and moves, playing over his muscles as they flex and ripple. Dark hair falling into his face as he glances up at Jensen through those long bangs, eyes dark as night in the half-light. He's _crawling_ to Jensen on his _hands and knees_ , back arched, one slow, sexy rise of shoulder blade and hip at a time, collar wrapped around his neck, ring swinging gently back and forth, hitting against his throat.

It's so incredibly motherfucking hot that Jensen thinks it might erase all previous instances of incredibly motherfucking hot, because Jesus _Christ_.

The slow, knowing swing of hips, the sinuous rhythm of muscles rippling, bringing him closer and closer to Jensen, so completely and totally subservient. Jensen's fingers grip the arms of the chair _hard_ , black leather sinking deep into white, and it takes every single ounce of will he _possesses_ to keep himself in the chair, to _wait_.

He bites down hard on the inside of his lower lip as Jared finally reaches him, chin nudging between Jensen's knees, head turning, hair falling into his eyes flashing up to Jensen's, cheek running up the inside of Jensen's thigh, tongue flashing out, pink and wet, slick stripe flowing up between Jensen's legs. Chin nuzzling at his cock, tongue laving trails over it through leather, and Jared moans, pushes his face into Jensen, lips suckling the shape. "Please," Jared whispers, breath hot as it flows over Jensen's cock. 

God, begging for it, wanting it _so_ much.

Jensen head falls back against the chair, watching Jared through slitted eyes as he reaches down, yanks his zipper open. Gloved hand wrapping around his cock, pulling it through. Jensen squeezes once, thumb and forefinger circling under the crown, and Jared says, "Thank you," leans in, licks long and slow across the wet slit.

Jesus _fuck_.

Jensen grits his teeth together as Jared presses a kiss to the tip and then opens his mouth, lips closing around the head, sealing, hot and tight. Jensen pulls his hand away, hissing in a breath as Jared lets his head slide down the length, swallowing him one slow inch at a time, neck twisting as he reaches the base.

Jensen could invoke control--he learned how to come on command and never before when he was just seventeen--but this isn't about that. This is about letting Jared service him.

Jared is still on his hands and knees, sucking Jensen's cock like he’s worshiping him, so gloriously, thoroughly slow. Humming around him, tongue curling up the underside, dipping into the slit, savoring every taste. Jared flicks his tongue under the head, hits the bundle of nerves there before he swallows Jensen whole again, throat closing around him tight. 

"Fuck," Jensen gasps, hips twitching, fingers clutching deep. 

Jared hollows his cheeks, sucks to the tip and twists his head, tongue teasing the opening, sucks, throat closing around him again, once, twice, three times, and that’s _it_ , Jensen comes like a gunshot, sharp and fast, bright jagged bursts of pleasure as he surges, hips bucking into Jared’s mouth, back arching against the chair. He holds on to it with a death grip, whole body stiff and trembling as Jared keeps sucking, tugging with his mouth, moaning as he swallows. He keeps suckling until Jensen’s cock starts to soften, last aftershocks vibrating through him.

Jared's still got his mouth around Jensen's cock when Jensen leans forward, fitting the key to the lock on the back of Jared's neck.

"My turn," Jensen whispers, nipping the knob of bone at the top of Jared's spine.

It's _making_ , now, not letting.

Jensen runs a hand through Jared's hair, twists his fingers around the strands and pulls Jared's head up. Lifts his other hand and pushes the first two fingers into Jared's mouth while he holds him. Jared moans, sucks them eagerly to the base, tongue swirling, and it's so fucking hot, Jared on his knees, naked, sucking Jensen's gloved fingers with those pretty pink lips. He pulls his other hand free of Jared with a last tug of fingers through his hair, lets it rest on the arm of the chair and watches Jared lick and suck, glancing up from under his bangs at Jensen from to time.

"Stop."

Jared lets his lips pull free, looking to Jensen for instruction. 

"Lube them, now."

Jared reaches next to the chair, opens the lube and slicks it over Jensen's fingers with slow strokes. When the leather is wet, shining where the light catches it, Jared looks to Jensen for confirmation, and Jensen nods once before Jared sets it aside.

"Now," Jensen says, letting his eyes run chest to knee over Jared's body and up again. "Get on all fours again and turn around."

Jared does, spreading his legs wide and arching his back so that Jensen can see everything. Jensen has to take a moment, just admiring the view; the round of Jared's ass pulled apart, pink hole displayed for him, legs muscles tensed and fully visible beneath the skin, cock hanging between, hard and straining. He's so ready; everything in his body language says he's ready for Jensen to fuck him, right here, right now, fuck the foreplay. But that's not the game they're playing tonight.

"Don't even need to prep you. I could shove my cock inside you right now and you'd take it. Wouldn't do anything but moan and fucking love it." Jensen's voice is sharp as the lash of a whip, and Jared shivers like he's been struck. "But you're here for _my_ enjoyment."

"Yes, sir," Jared moans.

"Back up and fuck yourself on my fingers."

Jared _crawls backwards_ to Jensen’s hand, and Jensen sucks in a breath at the sight, lines his first two fingers up. Jared backs another inch, another, and then the he pushes, takes the tips of both fingers into his body, pink rim stretching easily around the leather, sliding back with one quick motion, gasping, spine stiffening. 

Jensen moans low in his throat, lower lip caught between his teeth so hard he thinks he might bite through it, and watches as Jared fucks himself on Jensen’s fingers without any help at all from Jensen. Jared rocks his hips to catch the tips against his prostate, spine flexing, arching, ass rising to meet Jensen’s fingers, thrusting deep and hard and fast. Jensen can feel the pressure and heat of Jared clenched all around his fingers, wishes he could feel the muscles against his bare skin. Jared's fucking into his hand with rapid curls of his hips, panting out rhythmic moans, hands fisted against the carpet. He's beginning to sweat, clear sheen over his long, tanned body, the round curve of his ass. 

Jensen wants to yank his fingers out and fuck Jared through the floor so hard, so much that he can almost _taste_ the want. But he doesn't, lifts a third finger instead, pushes it inside when Jared slides backward against him. Jared shudders, gasping, snaps his hips and keeps going.

"Stop."

Jared does, thigh muscles shaking, Jensen's fingers halfway inside him.

"Turn around and come here."

Jared crawls forward, Jensen's fingers slipping from him, and he groans, flinching when they do. He turns on all fours and crawls up between Jensen's thighs.

Jensen's dick is hard again, rising through the opening of his pants onto his stomach.

"Do you want to fuck me?" Jensen asks, voice a teasing purr.

"Yes, sir."

"Then get me ready."

Jared slicks Jensen’s cock with long, slow, squeezing strokes until it shines, standing up straight and hard. At Jensen's nod, Jared closes the lube, pushes into the seat cushion. Then he looks up, eyes begging permission.

"Just dying to get up here and ride my cock." Jensen's thumbs Jared's lower lip. "Even when you know I'm not going to touch you." Jensen grabs him under the chin, tugs him slowly upward.

Jared follows the pull of Jensen's hand, crawling up into Jensen’s lap, legs straddling Jensen’s hips, and God, he feels so good, warm skin and solid muscle, bare cocks pressed tight together. He puts his hands on the outside of the chair arms, not touching Jensen, and lifts his body.

Jensen grabs Jared around the waist, fingers digging into the muscle, and stops him, holding him still. "Beg me," Jensen says, tilting his head up at Jared, hips twitching up just enough, cock head grazing Jared's hole. 

"Please, sir," Jared's voice is shaking as he dips his head, lips daring almost close enough to kiss Jensen, eyes downcast, words breathed out in a hot rush. "Please let me fuck you. Can I, _may_ I, please?"

"Want it so bad, don't you?"

Jared moans feverishly. "So bad, more than anything, please."

Jensen chuckles darkly, lifts up, teasing again as he pretends to think about it, then lets go of Jared's waist, rests his hands on the arms of the chair. "Do it."

"Thank you, sir."

Christ, that's so hot it's criminal.

Jared rocks his hips forward a little and slides down on Jensen slow, so incredibly, tortuously slow. God, so fucking hot and tight, sleek and wet, clenching around his cock. Jared moans and tilts his head back, spine arching as he slides the rest of the way down. When their bodies touch, Jared shivers and lets out a sigh, hesitating for a moment, and Jensen reaches around, smacks him on the ass. "Get on with it."

Jared jolts in surprise, and then he starts to move. Jared is fucking him so exquisitely slow, hips grinding, circling, twisting. Mouth swollen from sucking Jensen off, eyes dark and glittering, filled with heat, stomach muscles rolling, rippling as he rides Jensen, cock aching hard, flushed and full, curving up against his belly. He’s so _hot_ , so beautiful, so completely given and giving to Jensen. Fingers flexing, tanned against the white arms of the chair, arms lifting, lowering. Jensen reaches around, smacks him on the ass again, leather stinging against the skin.

"Fuck me like you mean it," he growls.

Jared lifts his body faster, grinding down harder, shuddering, stomach muscles and thighs trembling with the effort. Jensen watches, making every effort to keep the pleasure Jared's giving him from showing in his face. Fuck, squeezing so tight around him, slipping, sliding all over his cock. Jared's so into it, more turned on by being made to serve like this than Jensen would've imagined, eyes watching Jensen, so subservient, silently asking if he's pleasing him.

Jensen grabs him around the chin again, pulls his face down, words breathed out hot across Jared's mouth. "You know this is all you're good for," Jensen grates in a dark whisper. "Getting fucked, being used like this. You'd think you'd be better at it."

Jared whimpers, cock jerking against his stomach, rolls his hips and slams down hard against Jensen, muscles straining, head thrown back, arms quivering, lower lip caught between his teeth, fucking Jensen with everything he's got. Jesus fucking _Christ_. Jensen grabs the chair tight, his own muscles shaking as he holds on, holds out against the sight and sensation of Jared riding him, keeps his hips still and lets Jared do all the work, until Jared's bucking against him, spine arched tight, veins standing out in his neck like cords, sweat dripping, rolling off him.

"That's more like it," Jensen says, shuddering as his balls contract, cock surging. His orgasm rips through him, quick and brutal, Jared riding him at breakneck speed, squeezing his inner muscles and milking Jensen's cock with every thrust and pull. It's violently sweet, so different with Jared completely controlling the rhythm, and he feels like he's going to rip the arms off the goddamned chair as he peaks, lower lip caught between his teeth, teeth breaking the thin skin on the inside. And still Jared doesn't stop, riding Jensen at a thundering gallop until every last bit of pleasure is drained from him.

"Stop," Jensen commands when he can't stand any more, voice low and shaky. 

Jared stills against him. "Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?" he gasps. He's breathing hard, still sweating, face and neck flushed.

"Yeah," Jensen says, tracing out the shape of Jared's mouth with one leather fingertip. "Get on your knees and suck my cock clean."

Jared moans, shuddering as he pulls off Jensen's dick. He slides down Jensen's body, falling to his knees on the carpet, takes Jensen’s sticky cock in his fingers and swipes his tongue up the side, so slow, tip gathering come, eyes locked on Jensen’s. 

_Fuck._

He licks Jensen clean with long, loving strokes of his tongue, lips closing around the tip, sucking slow down the length until every last trace of come is gone. It’s insanely fucking hot, and Jensen can feel his cock twitch valiantly, trying to get interested again, heat pooling low in his belly. Jared presses a kiss to the inside of Jensen’s thigh, looking up at him from between his legs. Jared's eyes are huge, full of need.

"All used up and fucked out," Jensen purrs, grabbing Jared's lower lip between his thumb and forefinger, holding Jared there as he inspects him. "Such a slut. Get up on your knees and get three fingers in that fucked out ass. You don't need any lube, not with my come dripping out of you. " Jensen lets go and sits back in the chair, hand resting under his chin. Jared moans and sits up on his knees, spreads his legs and reaches around with his left hand. Jensen watches his eyes flutter shut, mouth opening in a tiny gasp as he slides three fingers inside himself. 

Jesus Christ, Jared loves this so much it's criminal, cock twitching against his belly, beads of pre-come wetting the tip. Jensen tries to keep his voice steady. "Now put your other hand on your cock and fuck yourself."

Jared rocks himself slowly back and forth between his hands, hips fucking back into his fingers, sliding forward into the grip on his cock. So fucking hot, Christ, watching him service himself at Jensen's command. Jensen orders him to keep going slow, slower, until Jared's straining, muscles twitching, flexing with the effort of moving and trying not to come. Jensen keeps him there on the edge for so long, teasing, talking filth, Jared so utterly turned on and needy that it gets Jensen hard all over again. 

He rises from the chair, walks around Jared and falls to his knees behind him.

"Take your fingers out of your ass," Jensen whispers into his ear, and Jared whimpers, moans as he pulls free. Jensen gets his hand around his own dick, lines up and tells Jared to ride his cock. Jared does, sinking back slow and Jensen hums at the sensation of Jared closing around him, so hot and still tight, smacks Jared's ass and tell him to keep moving. Jensen sets both hands on Jared's hips, doesn't move to guide him, just grips him tight while Jared rolls his hips, fucking back into Jensen's dick, forward into the hand on his cock. 

"Please," Jared moans. "Feels so good. Need to--"

Jensen lets go of one of Jared's hips, slides his fingers under the back of the collar and tugs, whispering savagely into Jared's ear. "You don't get to ask for _anything_. Shut up and fuck me."

Jensen keeps his fingers under Jared's collar, other hand holding his hips, keeping Jared's body positioned the way he wants it. Jared groans and moves faster, taking Jensen deeper, fucking him obediently until Jensen feels sweet, hot pressure building inside him.

"Hot, tight body, all mine. All for my pleasure." Jensen licks a slow line along Jared's neck, and Jared whines, whole body jittering. Jensen feels Jared tighten down around him, bites back a moan. "Now," Jensen whispers, sinking his teeth into the soft lobe of Jared's ear.

Jared comes instantly, hips twitching and bucking out of control, and Jensen comes while Jared convulses all around him, muscles fluttering and squeezing his cock. It's so fucking good, Jared wriggling, writhing, twisting on the end of his dick, coming so hard that he's practically screaming, and Jensen digs his fingers into Jared's hip, the skin of his neck, spills so hard that he loses himself completely for a moment.

They're both panting, hearts pounding when Jensen pulls out. He unlocks the collar and turns Jared around, pushes him to the floor on his back. He lays down on top of Jared, feels the slickness all over Jared's belly and chest, bodies slipping, sliding together, and pins Jared's arms over his head, kissing him deep.

"Jesus _fuck_ ," Jared gasps. "I thought you were trying to kill me."

Jensen smirks, licks a line under Jared's lower lip. "I asked you if you were sure."

"You were so fucking _hot_ ," Jared moans. "God, Jensen."

"Oh, I'm not done with you yet," Jensen promises. "Think you can get it up again, Padalecki?"

Jared looks at him, smile tilting his mouth up on one side. "I'm twenty-one; looking at the _ceiling_ makes me hard. What about you, old man?"

Jensen chuckles. "I don't need to, trust me."

Jensen locks the collar again, ties Jared to the bed and teases him for the next hour, doing anything and everything to make Jared come, fingers locked around the top of his balls to keep him from actually coming. Jensen's not surprised that he can go for a fourth time in one night; he just usually doesn't. He fucks Jared hard and fast, finally lets Jared come with Jensen's cock inside him, and they both orgasm so hard that it's all Jensen can do to pull himself from Jared afterward, untie and un-collar him.

They curl tight into each other on the bed, naked and sticky and sated, and Jensen knows he should get up and go shower, but he just can't bring himself to care. He skates his fingertips down the line of Jared's arm, breathing into the curve of Jared's neck.

"You're amazing," Jensen breathes.

"No..." Jared barely whispers. "You."

Jensen smiles.

"I love you," Jared says, voice foggy with sleepiness.

Jensen turns his cheek, presses a kiss to Jared's throat, and they slide down into sleep together. 

*

The next morning, they take a helicopter sightseeing tour of French Polynesia. The sky is painted with thick, billowing white clouds, and its rich blue color pales in comparison to the world below. Lush, emerald islands rise, peaking into a fine mist of fog, their bodies nestled between hues of gorgeous, translucent aquamarine deepening to sapphire. From up here, there’s an even deeper sense of serenity, such a profound tranquility that Jensen finds himself enthralled.

Jared is just as rapt, forearm resting on Jensen’s shoulder, light fingertips playing along the line of the chain around his neck, warmth of his body pressing against Jensen’s side.

They spend the afternoon exploring the remains of Maeva, Huahine’s ancient capital. The ruling families of the island once lived here, worshiping their gods in stone temples called marae. Crumbling walls stick up from the ground like jagged teeth, made from great slabs of rock held together by piled stacks of flat stones. Tufts of green vegetation peek out from spaces between the stones, nature slowly trying to reclaim the structure. Jensen is fascinated by the fact that there aren’t more; it’s a testament to the Tahitians building skill. Here and there, scattered around the edges, are pieces of carved stone sticking up from the ground like posts. They’re worn smooth with years of rain and wind, the barest impressions of eyes and noses and mouths to show that they’d once had faces. 

It's... fascinating, and somehow eerie, all at once.

"I wonder if they had any idea how long these things would survive?" Jared says, fingers running the length of one face, curving to the dips and bumps.

"I doubt they ever thought about it," Jensen answers. It makes him uncomfortable, being here. He doesn't believe in ghosts, they're improbable, not provable, but there's a sense of... something that permeates the air. Something vaguely oppressive, claustrophobic.

Further on beneath the shaded canopy of trees, there are gigantic steps made of the ground itself, flat rocks piled around the outside edges to keep the earth from washing away. To the right of the stairs, vines drip from the branches of an enormous, ancient, banyan tree, so many of them that Jensen can’t see the trunk of the tree itself, just the shadow of its bulk outlined by the sun shining behind it. 

It’s beautiful, peaceful, like everything else on the island, but he can't shake the sense of uneasiness.

It abates a little when they get back to the main road, away from the ancient sights. 

They walk the rest of the way hand in hand, Jared’s shoulder leaning into Jensen’s, sun setting in a smear of orange and hot-pink, edges of clouds limned in gold. In the distance, the sounds of island drums and reeds are beginning to rise, drifting on the gentle breeze.

It’s perfect. But there's tension coiled between his shoulder blades, this feeling like poison eating slowly at his gut. He recognizes it; sinister and familiar, the way it chews at him slowly, churning and unceasing. 

He doesn't want to know this. _Can't_ know this. It isn't supposed to _be_ like this. Not anymore.

Jared leans his head into Jensen’s, pointing out a flock of birds, their silhouettes rising against the sunset.

Jensen pushes the feeling down, turns and catches Jared’s mouth with his own.

* 

Jensen cooks them breakfast the next morning in the kitchen of the beach house, watching the bacon slowly crisp around bubbles of fat. He sets it on napkins and lays another layer on top, blotting them as free of grease as he can, and then cooks fried eggs. They eat at the dining room table, sun shining bright through the slats of the blinds, and everything is as gorgeous and perfect as it's been since they've been here.

Jared goes to change clothes, and Jensen washes the dishes by hand, setting them one at a time into the drainer, ignoring the dishwasher completely. He wipes the stove down, then the counters, removing every last trace of grease, and then he goes to the closet to get the broom and dustpan.

The vanilla flower petals on the crown have withered and browned, scattered fragments falling to the floor of the kitchen where Jensen hung it to dry. He sweeps them up, gathers them in the dustpan and walks to the trashcan. He stands there for a long moment before he tilts the pan, lets the petals fall into the trash. He curls his fingers tight around the handle, driving the blood from his fingers, skin whitening, knuckles reddening, and the plastic cracks, loud sound echoing off the walls.

He hangs the dustpan back in the tiny closet, handle still intact, tiny white lips of a crack splintering down the middle of bright blue plastic.

"So what are we doing today?" Jared calls from the bedroom.

Jensen takes a deep breath and shuts the door.

*

They bicycle south, past the low, rolling fields of vanilla farmers on their left, scenic roads that wind through verdant forests up to breathtaking vistas on their right. Down through the mango and papaya groves, trunks hemming close, lush green leaves shading the dirt road completely. It's fragrant, exotic scent of fruit carried on the salty breeze, and everything is so silent, like they could be alone in the world. 

They stop to eat lunch in a grassy field rich with red and orange tropical flowers, sun shining down, almost surreal in its brightness. Jared is distracted by the pattern of vines weaving together from an ancient tree at the fields edge, and behind it, they discover a field of pale gray mushrooms, growing thick and hearty among a bed of deep green moss, sound of water rushing in the distance. They trace the sound to its source, through thick vegetation and rotting logs to a small waterfall, water splashing in spurious white patterns against worn, black rock, trickling and falling to a pool about ten feet in circumference before it surges over more rocks into a waterway the size of a creek.

Jared pulls Jensen under the flow of water, laughing and tugging at Jensen's shirt, and Jensen kisses him there, Jared's back pushed to the rocks as water spills over, around and between them, running in sweet, fresh rivulets between their lips.

All that matter is this, Jensen thinks. All that matters is now.

Jared strips off his clothes and dives into the pool, and Jensen stands there, water trickling down over him, shaking his head, smiling ruefully as he watches. 

_Libertas_ , he thinks, and then frowns, biting down on the inside of his cheek against the word.

Jared whoops as he surfaces, slinging his hair back from his face, and calls Jensen to join him.

Jensen loops the key through the chain, once, twice, three times, links curling over themselves until it's pulled taut around his neck, and then he strips, diving in.

They swim for a while, and then Jared chases Jensen down, wet arms wrapping around his shoulders. Jensen turns him against one of the huge, smooth rocks, kisses him until they're both breathless, then pulls both of them up onto the dry surface, sun filtering down over their bodies. 

He takes Jared there against the sun-warmed stone, water drying on their skin as they move, bodies locked together in a steady, sinuous rhythm. 

"You okay?" Jared asks him, fingers running over Jensen's face, his skin gorgeous in the golden slant of afternoon sunlight.

"Perfect," Jensen answers.

Perfect. It _should_ be perfect. He knows it's _supposed_ to be perfect. _Would_ be, if he could just shake this feeling.

Throughout the day, Jensen touches the key as often as he can, reminding himself that it's still there.

They return the bikes, walk the short distance to the town of Fare. They stop at the market on their way back, filling a basket with fruits and vegetables, and Jensen lingers by the seafood cart. The man behind it informs them that the shrimp were caught early this morning, and Jensen buys a small bag stuffed full of them.

They walk to the house, arms looped around each others waists, sun just a sliver of light on the horizon, sky above them a fading midnight blue to deep purple to yellow. 

Fading in the colors of a bruise.

Jensen squeezes Jared's hand tight, and Jared turns to kiss Jensen's cheek, murmuring sweet words into Jensen's ear, and for a moment, everything feels okay again.

He knows it won't last more than a moment. Knows he has to deal with this sickness inside him. He just doesn't know _how_.

 

*

 

Jensen's mother once accused him of being like a dog with a bone; once he started worrying at something, he couldn't leave it alone. Aside from taking mild offense at being compared to a dog, Jensen pretty much acknowledged the truth of that. There were a few things his mother got right.

Once a thing is known, it can't be unknown again.

He toys at the key around his neck, fingers turning it over and over, catching and reflecting light.

_What has changed?_

It doesn't take long to figure out, once he lets himself try.

Nothing has changed.

He'd thought that getting the key back would somehow put everything right. It's what sent everything spiraling in the first place. He has it back, and everything is supposed to be different; _better_ , now. But even now that that he has it--and he's so incredibly _grateful_ to have it back--he still feels the same as he did while it was gone.

It strikes him as somehow profoundly unfair.

They're eating dinner in the beach house, fresh shrimp Alfredo, Jensen twining noodles around the tines of his fork. 

He still feels empty inside, and more than that... far worse than that, is... 

Maybe it’s time he just said it. Maybe it's time he just... _confronts_ it.

He takes a breath. 

"I'm so angry at her, Jared." 

Jared stops with his fork almost to his mouth and meets Jensen's eyes. He sets the utensil deliberately back down into the ceramic bowl. "You should be." 

“Of course I should be.” Jensen doesn’t disagree with that. “The problem is… I don't know how to make it stop." 

"Maybe you shouldn't," Jared says, and God he's angry too, fierce protectiveness burning in his eyes. 

"I need it to stop." Jensen winds his fork another turn, noodles twisting around its edge. 

"You have every right to be angry, Jensen." 

Jensen sighs. "Jared… I spent years being angry, about everything, at everyone. It's what drove me to Isabelle in the first place." The words are difficult, and they don't leave him without pain. "I'm not that person anymore," he says, shaking his head slowly. "And I don't want to be, ever again." 

Jared's face twists angrily, and he turns his head away, jaw muscle knotting. "Dammit." Jensen watches him clutch the table and _squeeze_ , silent for so long that Jensen begins to worry… and then he sighs, lets go, face sliding into dark resignation. "Fine." He sits forward, tilts his head down, looking at the table, fingers drumming out an annoyed rhythm against the wood grain. "How do you deal with it when you're angry at me? How do you stop being angry at me?" 

Jensen thinks about that, dabbing at the corner of his mouth with the napkin. "I…" It hits him, then, and he goes very still, looking at Jared. "I forgive you." 

Jared nods, terse, corners of his mouth tensing. 

"I have to… forgive her?" The words don't make any sense. "I'm… not sure I know how to do that." 

"You have to." Jared sighs. "For you. But I don't," he adds, eyes flashing up to Jensen's. 

Jensen doesn't say a word, just looks at him. 

"God dammit, Jensen," Jared hisses. He throws his napkin on the table and leaps up from the seat, chair skidding out across the floor as he spins away. Jared stalks to the living room window, hands clenching into fists again and again, and Jensen can see the anger in the set of his shoulders, the way he's holding himself. 

He's not sure he's ever _seen_ Jared this angry. He's _furious_. He doesn't even get this mad at Jensen when they fight. 

Jensen pushes out from the table, sets his napkin aside. He walks up behind Jared, smoothes his hands across the stressed muscles in Jared's shoulders, and strokes down. "Jared," he whispers. 

Jared turns on him, shakes his head hard and steps up to Jensen, cupping Jensen's face in his hands. "No. What she did to you… Jensen, if I could…" Jared trails off, breathes deep and fast as he tries to regain control of himself. When he speaks again, it's in a voice so truly livid that it sounds _calm_. "I… want to _kill_ her for what she did to you. Do you understand that? The way she hurt you… I'd do anything to take that pain away from you." 

Jensen swallows hard, eyes pricking, room blurring. "Jared…" 

"Anything," Jared insists, voice a harsh whisper. 

Jensen blinks back the fullness of his eyes, looks down at the floor. He opens his mouth to speak, and Jared's fingers tighten, tilt Jensen's face up to look at him. 

"You," he says, eyes intense, burning holes through Jensen, "are the most beautiful person in the world. The way you love me, everything you give me, everything you do. You never deserved what she did to you." 

Jensen puts his hand on Jared's cheek, throat too tight to speak. 

"You have… the most loving heart," Jared says, voice gentling. He slides a hand down Jensen's neck, palm pressing against Jensen's heartbeat. "And she _destroyed_ it. When I think about you… sixteen years old and totally helpless, at her mercy…" Jared's hand shakes against his chest. 

"Jared…" 

"I wish more than anything I could take it back. Make it so that never happened." Jared shakes his head, eyes glittering with wetness. "I want to protect you from that. Kiss you and hold you and tell you that you're perfect just the way you are. Because you _are_." 

Jensen's chest aches, he feels like he can’t breathe. Jensen grabs Jared by the face, pulls him down and kisses him. 

Jared slides his hands up Jensen’s back, into his hair, mouths soft, tongues meeting, circling. Needful, passionate, slow and sweet and _deep_. It means more than Jensen thinks he knows how to understand. 

“You’re _perfect_.” Jared is trembling against him; mouths tangled together, fingers stroking his spine, drawing him slowly towards the bedroom. "Let _me_ show you,” Jared breathes, “how perfect you are, how much you deserve to be loved and given to and taken care of.”

_Consider the idea._

_No, Jensen. **Really** consider it._

Maybe… maybe he _does_ deserve this. To be loved like this… to be given to, taken care of sometimes. He can't know if he doesn't test the idea.

But the way it _feels_. No one has _ever_ talked to him like this before. So much... too much. Too deep.

And far too late for regrets. His emotions have already been set free.

If he’s going to have to accept responsibility for them, then let it be for _this_ , too. 

Jensen squeezes his eyes shut, flexes his fingers around Jared’s. Lets the fingers of his other hand flow through Jared’s hair, tips pressing lightly against the skin beneath. 

"Show me," Jensen whispers. 

Jared's arm circles Jensen's waist, fingertips curling into the small of Jensen's back, other hand pushing against Jensen's shoulder, curving his spine against Jared's arm. Jared lays Jensen gently on the bed, Jared’s weight pressing him into the mattress, and wraps both arms around Jensen, kissing him, deep and slow, hips rolling into his.

They haven't done this in a long time. They both enjoy it on a rare occasion…even if it's not what they both enjoy the most. It's not what they're both best at. But Jared wants to give him this, show him this, and Jensen wants to let him.

Jared strips himself first, then peels Jensen's clothes away slowly, mouth pressing kisses over each inch of skin as it's bared. Down, down, until he's kissing the insides of Jensen's thighs. Jared spreads him open, palms gentle against his thighs, tongue drifting down the crease, lapping, laving, curling slowly inside him until he's filled with wet, sleek muscle, pleasure shivering through him in showers of sparks. Jared takes his time, twisting and turning his tongue, like he's trying to taste everything, and Jensen moans, rocking his hips into the slick feel. Jensen turns his head against the bed, jaw line sliding, mouth open, eyes closed. "God. Feels so… fucking good."

Jared fucks him like that, wet and deep until all the tension leaves Jensen’s muscles, body slack against the bed, breathing hard. Jared pulls his tongue free, tip dragging lightly up the center of Jensen's balls, slow shivering dance to his cock, full and heavy, hot and hard as it curves up onto his belly. Jared seals his mouth around the head, wet, tight and hot, sinking slow down the length, head moving back and forth in a graceful, sinuous motion, down until Jensen hits the back of Jared’s throat, and then back up again, sucking Jensen to the tip, tonguing the slit until Jensen's shaking, hips lifting from the bed. "Fuck." 

Slick fingertip sliding inside him exquisitely slow, sinking deep, tip curling against Jensen's prostate. Jared's mouth on him, tongue teasing under the head, finger working inside him, and Jensen twists against the sheets, moaning, fingers curling, clinging to Jared's shoulders. Spine flexing, arching, rising into wet heat locked around him, lost in the rhythm of it. Second finger sliding in, stretching Jensen wider, and when Jared pushes a third finger inside him, sucking all the way to the base, Jensen comes with a strained choke, fingers clutching convulsively in Jared's muscles. 

Jensen has _never_ let anyone touch him the way that he lets Jared touch him. Isabelle touched him freely, but her hands, her touches, her eyes, were nothing like Jared's. It's not even comparable. Jared’s so warm, looking up at Jensen with nothing but love and adoration as he maps the lines and curves of Jensen’s muscles with his hands, mouth following, slick and hot behind. Tongue trailing fire over Jensen's skin, circling his nipples, slow sucking and gentle tugs of teeth, and Jensen arches, groans. Jared's hands fitted everywhere against his body, fingertips flexing, feeling. Tongue laving, tracing the outline of the key against Jensen's chest, flowing up the curve of Jensen's neck, finding his lips.

Jared settles fingertips on Jensen’s cheeks, presses a kiss above the bridge of Jensen’s nose, and lets his head fall forward, resting forehead to forehead. “So perfect,” Jared whispers. “God, Jensen. You’re so beautiful,” words breathed into his mouth, Jared’s weight against him, hips rolling together, slow, gentle waves. “I don’t understand how anyone could ever want to hurt you.” Jared traces his fingers over Jensen’s face, flowing along the lines of muscle and bone. Light, gentle, thumb catching under the swell of his lower lip, kiss pressed so deep and hard, slow exhale of breath through Jared’s nose. Jared’s hands rising into his hair, stroking the curve of his skull, pulling him in, deeper… deeper. 

They haven't done this in a long time. But Jensen remembers. 

He remembers it never felt like this. 

To be loved like this… To be loved so _completely_ … so much that it _hurts_ to understand it. It’s such a _gift_. Jensen’s not sure he can accept it. 

He reaches for Jared’s hand, curls his fingers around Jared’s wrist, uncertain. Jared turns his hand over, palms sliding together, laces his fingers through Jensen’s. So tender, so sure. 

“You deserve this, Jensen,” Jared’s breath is warm, flowing over his jaw line. Lean body molded against him, fingers trailing down his throat, mouth kissing him soft and sweet… it feels like _everything_. It feels like everything his anger at Isabelle _isn’t_. 

"You deserve to be loved like this..." Mouths melting together, slow weaving of tongues, sleek glide, Jared's fingers squeezing his gently, Jared’s hips sliding lower between Jensen’s. "I'm so sorry she taught you that you didn't." 

Jared pushes inside him slow, so incredibly careful, velvety soft-hard cock head parting him, slick and so warm. Jared wriggles his hips back and forth, sliding in one millimeter at a time, and Jensen can feel his body opening, stretching, delicious pressure filling him until he feels like he can't breathe. Jared pauses, curls his body and thrusts with his hips, bright flash of pain as he sinks to the bottom, hands cradling Jensen's face like he's delicate, precious, kissing his mouth, his cheeks, his chin.

"Wish it didn't hurt, not even for a second. Never want to hurt you."

He can feel Jared’s heart beat, steady thump through his ribcage, chests and stomachs pressed together, slick with sweat, nothing between them except what’s always been there. Jared rocks his hips gently, staring into Jensen’s eyes as he laces their fingers together. Jensen can feel it the same way he always does; how they fit, how they’re supposed to move together, bodies flowing, locked together in a single movement. Hands touching him, stroking everywhere, words whispered out hot against his mouth, over his cheeks.

Wave after wave of dizzying pleasure, Jared angling his hips, taking Jensen almost torturously slow, cock rubbing against Jensen's prostate until finally Jensen's hard again. Jared strokes one hand through Jensen’s hair, fingertips caressing skin, teasing the texture of the strands, eyes staring into Jensen, watching his every expression, so intimate, intense, so loving. 

Jensen’s eyes flutter shut, and Jared drops a light kiss against each eyelid, thumb running along the curve of Jensen’s forehead. 

“I love you,” he whispers, breath tickling against the lashes, hips pushing slow to fill Jensen. “So much.”

Bodies so close, fused together, Jared giving him this, loving and giving to him completely-- it’s too much, filling Jensen inside and out until he feels like he’s going to break, feeling welling up behind his eyes, catching in his throat. He can’t…

“More than anything.”

Can’t…

“I’d do anything for you…” Jared rocks his hips, wraps his arm tight around Jensen, fingers curling into the muscles of Jensen’s spine. “I’d die for you, Jensen…” words, barely whispered against his mouth, Jared’s lower lip trembling against his. “I would _die_.” 

“That’s…” soft lips gliding against his, “how much…” hips twisting, working slow, wicked rhythm, “I love you.” 

Jensen opens his eyes, heart stuttering. “ _God_ , Jared.” Jagged, throaty whisper.

“That’s how much you _deserve_ to be loved.” Jared’s fingers touch Jensen’s face, voice shaking with emotion, tears rising in his eyes.

So much love, so much belief. His _heart_ , God. 

Jared stares into him, all love and honesty, drives deep and steals all of Jensen's breath into his mouth, fingers closing around Jensen's cock with gentle strokes. "That's how much you're _worth_ ," he insists.

Warm burst like breaking open inside, everything rising to a sudden, sharp point, and Jensen comes, pulsing over Jared's hand. Jared kisses him, murmuring into his mouth the whole time, steady stream of words, _God, yes, Jensen. So beautiful. Love you so much._ Jared keeps moving, stroking, milking pleasure from him, spreading out like ripples on the surface of a pond, intense sensation winding through his whole body, slowly suffusing him.

Jared comes right behind him, fingers clenching, locked around Jensen's. Jensen drifts as they both recover, Jared sprawled against his chest, sweating and beautiful and perfect. He strokes his fingers through Jared’s hair until Jared lifts his face, kisses Jensen once, soft brush of their lips together.

“That's how you always should have been loved,” he says. “And that’s how I’m always going to love you. Forever.” 

Jensen clasps Jared’s face between his hands, surges and kisses him hard, lips bruising with the force, eyes burning.

“I’d die for you without a second thought,” Jensen admits, voice rough. “You’re the only one.”

They roll onto their sides, still facing each other, and Jensen kisses away the single teardrop rolling down Jared's cheek, hand cupping the back of his head, and Jared kisses him until they're both breathless. Jared slips from inside him, and Jensen pulls his face closer until they're cheek to cheek, Jensen's face resting on Jared's, other arm draped around Jared's shoulders. 

Jared’s breathing evens out, deepens, and Jensen knows he’s asleep. 

Jensen feels peaceful. Calm and empty in a _good_ way, warm and smoothed and hollowed out inside, like being rinsed clean. He lays there for a few minutes, just _feeling_ it. He doesn’t want to pick it apart. Not right now.

Jensen closes his eyes. 

Chad's waiting there for him behind his eyelids. 

"You think you’re ever gonna get a new theme?” Chad complains, holding up his arms and presenting himself.

Chad is wearing a long black robe with flowing sleeves, hood pulled up around his head. He can see Chad's face and the bare bone of Chad's skull, blue eyes and empty sockets at the same time. He's holding a scythe in one hand. Chad exhales smoke from his cigarette, and Jensen can see it sifting out between the bare ribs in his chest. 

Jensen is sitting cross-legged in the middle of an empty room with no windows or doors. He knows it's his living room, even though there's nothing in it and the walls are all made of brick. He knows it the same way he knows he is sixteen, and that he still has a gaping hole in his chest. 

There are pictures spread out on the floor in front of him, and he starts to reach for one until he sees himself in one; a young laughing child on a playground. 

"I don't have enough hands for these," Jensen says, pulling his hand back. 

Jared reaches down and takes his hand. "Come on, Jensen. I want you to meet some people." 

Jensen gets to his feet and follows. Jared doesn't take him far, just closer to the other side of the room. 

"Where—" Jensen starts to ask. 

"Shh, it's starting." Chad is sitting on the floor next to them, eating popcorn. When Jensen looks back up, there's a table with four people in chairs around it. 

"He came to me and asked me for help. I showed him what to do. But he wouldn't cut out his heart," Isabelle sniffs derisively. "And then he didn't even do anything _with it_." 

"He did one thing. He fell in love with me. So _weak_." Jared-at-the-table's expression is cruel, mocking. 

"He called me and asked for help," Chad-at-the-table says, dragging heavy off a cigarette. "He's even been dreaming about me helping him. You believe that shit?" 

"He asked me if he was a good friend to me." Chris delivers the sentence like the punch line to a joke, and they all laugh. It sounds like the mad cackling of crows, fluttering inside Jensen's ears, echoing in the hole in his chest. 

"I always hated him." 

"I'm only with him because I feel sorry for him." 

"Your charity case is my charity case," table-Chad says, nudging table-Jared's shoulder. 

"He's a total lost cause," Chris nods. 

Their laughter rises louder and louder until it's the only thing Jensen can hear, and he knows he's got to stop them, can't listen to them anymore. 

He walks to one of them, he can't tell which one, can't see their face, but he knows what to do; wraps his hands around a throat, anything to make it stop. He doesn't know which one of them he's holding, but when he looks up… 

It's his own face staring back at him, his fingers curled around his own neck. 

Every single person at the table is him, each one a version from the pictures. They're all wearing chains, shackled around their wrists, their ankles. 

"That's not going to work," says Jensen with the fading bruise. 

"You can't kill us," college Jensen says. 

"We're part of you." The smile adult Jensen gives him is just as cool as it is smooth. 

"And we'll always be here forever and ever and never ever go away." Eight-year-old Jensen swings his feet back and forth. 

"No," Jensen says stepping back. He's horrified, wants to run, but there's nowhere to go; the room is sealed. 

"Ah, shit," Chad mutters. "He's gonna pop." 

They come for him, hands grasping, tugging at him, surging and surrounding him. Jensen fights desperately, but he can't escape. The harder he struggles, the tighter they grip him. 

"This would be a lot easier if you didn't resist," adult Jensen says and kisses him. He pushes a hand inside Jensen's chest and Jensen screams. 

"Help me," Jensen begs. 

"They're trying." Jared's sitting in the middle of the table, holding the Jack of Hearts in his hand. Jensen can see the King of Diamonds ripple through the Jack's face for an instant, and then the key. 

"Libertas," college Jensen whispers, pushes a hand inside him, too, lips meeting his. 

Jensen stops fighting. 

The other versions of himself come free of their shackles. One by one, they come to him, put their hands inside him and kiss him, slowly melting into him until they vanish. 

When they're gone, the walls of the room shimmer and turn to sand. 

He doesn't have a hole in his chest anymore. 

"Hey, Harvey!" Chad yells to someone Jensen can't see. "Cancel the funeral! And send the dancing chickens back!" 

Jensen blinks awake. Pulls on his pants and grabs his phone, takes a walk down the blue and black shadowed path under the moonlight. He sits a few feet away from the shore, knees bent, feet bare against the warm sand, listening to the waves roll in. Under the night sky, the water looks black, white foam rising in crests and lapping at the shore. 

Platinum key suspended around his neck, caught between his fingers. Pt on the table of periodic elements. 

Dmitri Mendeleev, inventor of the periodic table, struggled with it for months, trying to figure out how to organize the known elements in a way that would leave room for ones that hadn't been discovered yet. It's said that he finally had a dream wherein he saw the table laid out perfectly. He put that vision to paper, in that way, and then to history. 

To find the solution in a dream… Jensen always thought it was bullshit perpetuated by scientist fanboys with more love of lore than discovery. But now… 

Of course Mendeleev dreamed about the answer. He thought about it all the fucking time when he was awake; it was his most important problem to solve. So when his brain was at rest, his subconscious helped him understand. 

Jensen understands, now. The meaning of his dream... the answer… is so clear even he can't miss it. Not now that he's been looking for it. 

There's clarity in his mind, the noise is gone. 

Key-shape made of platinum; Pt on the table of periodic elements, millions of atoms against his palm, seventy-eight protons and electrons in each one. Atomic mass of 195.078. It's math. 

His love for Jared; that's not math. It's not science. He can't reduce it to its most basic parts. And it's as illogically inseparable from the key in his hand as it is from the heart beating in his chest. 

It isn't just a key. Yes, it's atoms, protons, electrons, neutrons. But it's also what he means to Jared, what Jared means to him. It's love and devotion, it's everything between them. It's the symbol of their trust, the symbol that binds them together. 

Because the moment Jared hung it around his neck, Jensen finally allowed himself to believe that Jared would be there forever. That was when he finally… 

When he finally understood his place in Jared's life and accepted it. 

When he finally chose to find an identity in Jared's life. 

He thinks of the first dream, when he held up the key and told Chad it was all he had. 

He understands. 

The key represents everything in his life that he's ever done _right_. The parts of himself that he can accept, the parts of himself he _likes_. 

_Why did you put everything in one place and lock it up?_

It's no wonder that losing the key would unsettle him so badly—OCD and what it means between him and Jared aside. Without what it represents in him personally, he's afraid he'd be as empty as Isabelle, as empty as he made himself after he left her. He's always been afraid that he still is empty, anyway. 

Jared's the best thing he's ever done, the best thing he's ever had. But what he's gained from being with Jared isn't all he has. He's not empty. No. He has all these other feelings, emotions, memories and parts of himself that he can barely stand to look at. He has those, too, even if he wishes he didn't. This last dream proves that. 

The key, in his dreams and in life, represents his love for Jared, and the… the only love he has for himself. But all those other parts, those pieces of himself that he can't stand to look at; they're still part of him, too. They'll always be part of him. Young Jensen who loved to laugh. Angry Jensen who didn't understand. Bruised Jensen who hated the world. Cold Jensen, who didn't believe in love _or_ hate. The Jensen who _does_ believe in love. 

He's the sum of his parts, and without any one of them, he can't be whole. He has to accept _all_ of them. 

_"You just gotta fuckin' pick. Which character are you?"_

He chooses. 

He's himself. Exactly who he's always been. 

He has to learn to live with it. And learn to love it. 

Libertas. Freedom. 

Jensen sits there for a long time, turning the phone over in his hand. 

He flips it open and pulls up his contacts, pushes call when he finds the one he wants. 

_What are you doing, Jensen?_

"Buying somebody a fuckin' Christmas turkey." 

* 

Jensen walks the path back to the beach house, lets himself back inside. 

He closes the door behind him, and pauses, hand on the door knob. 

It’s not over, he knows. It’s just the beginning. There’s so much he still needs to learn. But for the first time… he feels like maybe he _can_. 

“Where’d you go?” Jared asks, voice thick with sleep as he snuggles next to Jensen’s body. 

“Nowhere,” Jensen whispers, pressing a kiss to Jared’s forehead. He wraps his arms around Jared and pulls him in. 

It’s true. He’s never been anywhere except where he is right now. 

He’s never been anywhere but here. 

* 

Jensen is rigging the sailboat under the high sun of noon when his phone rings. 

"Chad. Can't you get in touch with Jared?" That's the _only_ time Chad ever calls him. “He’s below deck, maybe the reception isn’t working.”

"Nah, it's not that, dude," Chad says quickly, launches into the next sentence without pausing for breath. "Check this shit out. Weirdest fuckin' thing, man. Remember when you called me the other day, how I told you my school loan didn't go through?" 

Jensen sits down on the railing of the boat, rope still in one hand. "Yeah, I remember." 

"Well, I just went down to the fuckin' school office to talk to them about working something else out, right? And you know what they tell me?" 

"What?" 

"It's already been paid in full. And I'm like… what the fuck, right? By _who_? And they say they can't tell me the details. And I'm like… okay, back the fuck up—what? And they tell me again that my tuition has been paid in full by an anonymous source. You _believe_ that shit? Fuckin' crazy." 

"That's great," Jensen says, twisting the rope between his fingers. "That's… unbelievable. I can't imagine anybody doing that." 

"Yeah, me neither. It's pretty big fuckin' deal." 

"So is finishing college." 

"Yeah, but still." Chad hesitates. "You think someone's gonna show up on my doorstep one day and want like, my firstborn child and my porn collection?" 

Jensen bites at his lower lip before he answers. "I think you should look at it as a gift." 

"A gift. Huh. You know, a gift like that isn’t just about the money. Somebody’d really have to _care_ to do something like that." 

Jensen's silent, and there's an even longer pause. When Chad finally speaks again, his voice is so level and sincere that Jensen almost doesn't recognize it. "You know, whoever it was, I wish I could tell 'em thanks." 

Jensen takes a second to appreciate the conversation they're not actually having. "I think they know you appreciate it." 

"Yeah. I guess they do." 

Jensen nods, chews the inside of his cheek. "I'm glad it worked out for you, Chad." 

"Yeah. Me, too." Chad's quiet for a moment. Then he takes a deep breath, his normal tone of voice kicking into gear. "Okay, dude. I'm gonna let you get back to pounding Jared into the sand, now." 

Jensen chuckles and shakes his head. "The amount of thought you put into my sex life is slightly disturbing." 

"Like a train wreck. It's fuckin' horrible, but I can't look away." 

"Bye, Chad." 

"Later, Jensen." 

Jensen listens to the dead connection for a few seconds. Then he closes his phone, smiling slightly as he slips it into his pocket. 

He puts both hands on the rope, tugs the mooring knot free. 

* 

They sail south to the lagoon, sun bright and sky fluffed with clouds, on their way to the pearl farms at the end of the island. It's another perfect day. Too perfect for Jensen to be contemplating the kinds of things he is.

"What are you thinking about?" Jared asks, standing next to Jensen at the steering wheel. He's gorgeous, tanned and lean and sculpted in nothing but his swimming shorts, hair blown back from his face by the wind. 

Jensen grimaces against the breeze, jaw working. “I was actually… thinking about Isabelle.”

Jared doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking at him expectantly.

“I was wondering…” Jensen tilts his head thoughtfully, eyes traveling out over the cerulean water. “What it must have been like for her. To risk being with someone so much younger… why would she have done that?”

He can _feel_ Jared staring at him.

“I wasn’t really a teacher, and you were of legal age—I made sure,” Jensen replies. “There’s a big difference between sixteen and eighteen, and she was already almost the age I was when I met you.”

When Jared doesn't say anything, Jensen goes on. "My parents are still best friends with hers. If they'd ever known..." Jensen shakes his head. "I can't even imagine."

“Somebody that fucked up…” Jared shrugs a shoulder. “Who knows?” 

“That’s exactly what I was thinking about… how she..." Jensen tries to find the words. "Must have been even more fucked up than _I_ am. How much less she must have believed she deserved love. She had to have known that she was fucked up, on some level… and then... there was this kid who idolized her, wanted her… it must have been very flattering. Until one day, I decided that I thought I might care about her, and told her so.”

Jensen hesitates. “When you think about it that way… it’s no wonder she drove me off."

Jared's silent, and Jensen takes his time finishing the thought. "I think now, she must have meant to. It must have horrified her to realize that I cared… even more than it horrified me when I found out that you cared about me." Jensen nods. "And I drove you away.”

“You tried,” Jared scoffs, and Jensen smiles. Jared twists back and forth for a moment, finally folds his arms across his chest and sighs. “So does this mean you’re ready to forgive her?”

Jensen turns the steering wheel a quarter inch, watching a bird dive gracefully toward the sea.

“No.”

There's a long pause between them, and finally Jensen turns his head, meeting Jared's eyes.

"But it helps."

Jared purses his lips, stares off into the horizon. 

"Yeah," he nods, finally, word whispered out, guttural.

*

On the twelfth day, they hike for miles up the vast rise of volcanic rock at the center of the island and stop at midday to fuck on plateau smooth as black glass, Jensen's face reflected up at him as he moves his hips, Jared's legs locked around his waist. They have lunch afterward, and reach the crest by 2PM, finishing the trip back down just as the sun is setting. That night, they go to watch Hoauni's daughters dance. It's impressive, done after dark around a huge bonfire in Fare, the two girls part of a group of eight, and they take special pleasure in dancing up to Jared and Jensen. 

On the thirteenth day, they do absolutely nothing, spending the day on the beach, searching out seashells and sharks teeth in the sand before they stretch out, side by side and watch the sun set. 

While they watch the sun dissolve in a myriad of vivid color, Jensen haltingly explains what he figured out from his last dream.

Jared rolls over in the sand next to him, body pressing up alongside, fingers tracing patterns over Jensen's collarbone, the musculature of his chest. "One day, you're going to have to tell me more about what you used to be like."

Jensen nods, swallowing hard. "When I can..." he promises. "I will." He reaches out, laces his fingers through Jared and presses their hands together over his heart. "There's a lot I need to start telling you, more often. I always think you understand what I'm thinking, feeling, without saying it."

"I do, Jensen."

 

"I know." Jensen smiles bitterly. "But I should tell you, anyway."

They're both silent for a while, sound of surf and wind coasting over their bodies.

"So... with all these things you've figured out..." Jared's words are slow and careful. "Do you feel... different? Like... maybe you're going to change?"

Jensen stares up at the stars, thinking, slowly shakes his head. "No. It's different, knowing all these things... and I think... I'll be happier, maybe... more at peace if I can get it all straight... but I don't think I'm going to change much. I'm always going to be who I am."

"Good," Jared whispers, kissing his cheek softly. "Because I love who you are."

"I know you do."

They talk about physics, the history of the island and the shapes of night clouds in the sky, and fuck one last time on the shoreline as the tide rolls in, waves crashing lightly over them, Jensen pinning Jared's arms against the sand.

On the fourteenth day, they pack up and say goodbye to Hoauni and his family, departing Huahine at mid-afternoon in the same way they arrived. 

Jensen watches the island disappear out of view through the airplane window.

He thinks maybe he's going to miss it, a little.

*

Everything at home is just the way they left it, but it doesn't feel the same, somehow. 

Life goes on; days pass, living life the way they usually do, Jared with him every day during the summer, and Jensen still can't shake the feeling.

There are things he finds himself wondering about that he doesn't understand, and the answers seem somehow important. 

It happens like anything else; it doesn’t happen all at once. It happens in a series of steps and staggers. Working through formulas and thoughts and feelings, gathering data. But every scientific experiment has a conclusion, a theory either proved or disproved. It's what he loves about it, and why he can't stand ambiguous story endings.

Things are supposed to have closure. 

Jensen finds his on a mid-summer Californian day, sun bright, not a cloud in the sky. He's sitting on the back porch alone, and he opens his phone, finds the number he stored in it almost two months ago.

He hits the button without hesitation. 

Four rings before an answer. 

"Hello?" 

Her voice sounds exactly the same. 

Jensen takes a deep breath, and he doesn't feel anything except a peaceful calm. 

"Isabelle." 

 

 

 

 

*

EPILOGUE

It's Saturday night and Jensen is sitting at the living room table with Jared and Chad.

"You know," Chad mourns, picking up his beer. "It just ain't fuckin' poker without cigars. It's like going to an Ozzy concert without drugs."

"Have you ever _been_ to an Ozzy concert?" Jensen asks, brows rising skeptically.

"Fuckin' Ozzfest last year. That was the night we saw a UFO, too. Fuckin' _crazy_ ," Chad nods emphatically.

"And how many drugs did you do that night?" Jensen asks casually, pushing two chips to the center of the table.

"Probably just as many as you did back in college. Your point? Oh, and don't think I didn't see that shit, trying to distract us with the sleight of hand," Chad wiggles his fingers through the air. "Bluffer. I'm so on that shit." Chad pushes in two chips. "What about you, Jay?"

Jared holds up a hand, throws his cards on the table. "I'm out." 

"You and me, dude," Chad says, looking at Jensen. "So what's it gonna be?"

Jensen makes a conscious effort not to pay attention to Chad's body language and pushes three chips to the center of the table. Chad matches and calls.

"Ready?" Chad's grinning like the cat that ate the canary.

_Shit._

"Boom, baby." Chad lays his cards out on the table. "Full motherfuckin' house."

Jensen throws his cards down and sighs.

"Don't hate me 'cause I'm better than you," Chad winks.

"Where's Chris?" Jared asks, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. "I thought Chris was coming tonight."

"Some big event at the club he couldn't get away from," Jensen shrugs. "He'll be here next weekend."

"Is he gonna bring cigars?" Chad asks, shuffling Jensen's hand into the deck.

"Luckily, though, Chad could make it," Jensen says, and Jared hides a laugh behind his hand.

Chad shuffles the deck, bridges it together. "You know, Jay, you really need to keep your boyfriend's massive crush on me in check. Shit's getting out of control."

"Tell me again why we invite him over?" Jensen asks, looking at Jared.

"Fuck you, Jenny. You know you fuckin' love me." Chad makes kissy faces at him and Jensen rolls his eyes, rubs a hand across his face.

"Deal the cards."

"Ready to get your ass kicked again?" Chad grins as he starts tossing cards in front of each of them.

Jensen picks up his cards and spreads them out in his hand; two of hearts, three of spades, four of diamonds, six of spades... Jack of hearts. He rubs his thumb over the face on the card, staring at it.

"You gonna play that hand or fuckin' make out with it?" Chad asks.

Jensen keeps looking at his cards, pushing his glasses neatly to the bridge of his nose with his middle finger.

Jared laughs, shaking his head. He leans across the space between them on the couch, and kisses Jensen, warm and soft. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Jensen whispers and kisses Jared back.

He trades the Jack even though he really doesn't want to, and gets a five of clubs.

Different suits, patchwork pieces, but they fit together; 2, 3, 4, 5, 6.

He can live with that.

 

FINIS

  
  



End file.
